


Unsinkable, Completely Unsinkable

by jumbled_sentiment



Series: Chain of Events [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Competitive Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Crime Fighting, Detective Alec Lightwood, Developing Relationship, Lawyer Magnus Bane, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:02:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28733151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumbled_sentiment/pseuds/jumbled_sentiment
Summary: “Mojito? Manhattan? Margarita?”A frown. “Those are different drinks?”“How about a slow comfortable screw?”Alec opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Maybe later?”
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: Chain of Events [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2106459
Comments: 20
Kudos: 67





	1. Three Cancelled Dates and One Broken Nose

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> If you don’t want to read my literal essay, key points are: ten chapters, new one every day at 6pm. Enjoy! 
> 
> I’m very excited for this one. It’s been a long, shitty few months (year, but September – December especially) and I didn’t get to write or read a single thing for literal months. Teaching in Covid times had me going home, getting into bed, eating the lunch that I hadn’t managed to get around to in the day, and then going to sleep at about 7pm. For a good few months. So being able to write over the Christmas holidays was the best present I could ever have gotten. I felt like a human being again for the first time in a long while! Then this project that I started completely for myself became something with a little bit of structure and I decided to work on it and actually post it. Hopefully this can bring some enjoyment to anyone out there who’s feeling as non-human as I did for those months. 
> 
> This is going to be 10 chapters and they’re mostly all done. It’s just a case of editing and a few finishing touches, so I’m going to be uploading a new chapter every day. I’ll probably upload at 6pm each time because I’m a creature of habit and I like routine. Also, it gives me something to look forward to after a day of remote teaching, informal therapy sessions over phone calls with students who don’t know whether they’re coming or going anymore, and management demanding a hundred and fifty one pointless things even though nobody can even breathe for how busy they are :) 
> 
> For the first time I tried really hard not to let any Britishisms slip in here, usually I just let them but this time I really wanted it to be accurate. The amount of time I spent researching the American term for a slip road (‘ramp’ just didn’t sound quite right to me, but I guess it is), just for one sentence in one chapter... pretty much sums up my experience as a Brit trying to write accurately for a story based in America! This also goes for every other chapter in this thing. Lots and lots of research for one tiny little line. So, the spot-the-Britishism game should be a tad more interesting this time ;) p.s. Bernard’s dialogue doesn’t count. 
> 
> Oh, and one last thing. I was irritated to realise that in my story, ‘There's Been a Wonderfully Odd Chain of Events’ I was using British terminology for the ranks of a police officer. I’ve corrected it for this story, but I also spent ridiculous amounts of time trying to research the different ranks and in the end decided to go with vague where possible because it was getting too confusing and America doesn’t make any sense to me. No offense, Americans! I’m just very, very British. And on that final note, I really hope you enjoy the read! As always, comments and feedback are very, very appreciated.

3:13am. Close to ankle-deep in mud and grime, desperately clamping his jaw shut for long enough to hear the woman’s cries over his own chattering bones. Alec Lightwood had dreamed of being a police officer since he was eleven years old. He’d taken the entrance exam at eighteen, the written, medical and psychological exams at twenty-one. Undergone a three-year slog of nasty, grueling grunt work before finally achieving the sergeant status that he was still, to this day, unimaginably proud of. Wiping the steady drip of red from his nose onto the collar of his uniform, trying not to curse the grief-riddled man who’d given it to him, having decided last night to choose a shift so long it bordered on illegal over the dinner he’d had planned with a beautiful man. Planned and rearranged, for the third time in as many weeks, only to wind up with a bigger mess on his plate than the one he’d been so intent on cleaning up in the first place. Proud. 

The vandalism situation had been spiraling for weeks, but yesterday had seen an unpredicted tragedy, one that was entirely Alec’s fault. In an apparent escalation of the back-and-forth destruction that had torn apart Lincoln Green and surrounding areas for the better part of two months, somebody had taken a can of lighter fuel, a match, and their neighbours' car. Parking front and centre in the cul-de-sac where most of the graffitied death threats, bricks-through-windows, emptied bins, smashed cars, flaming tyres and smeared faeces had originated from, they’d set the place alight. 

What they hadn’t accounted for, what nobody could have accounted for, was the nine-year-old child in superman pyjamas bolting out of the bedroom he shared with his baby brother, racing down the stairs, through the front door, and out onto the street.

He’d only wanted to dash about with his plastic-cup-fire-extinguisher, ‘Thomas to the rescue!’ Then get tucked back up into bed with a pat on the back for a job well done. Perhaps he hadn’t realised how close he’d gotten. Hadn’t noticed the wind, the strength of it, or the way it was readying itself for a gust right back in superman’s direction. Or maybe, a nine-year-old child and a burning car just wasn’t a match made in heaven. Flinging the dregs of his juice onto the inferno, little Thomas Ilkley had received a face full of flames for his trouble. He’d survived, initially. Rushed off in an ambulance with his mother following behind him in one of her own. Shock, they’d said. Alec didn’t blame her. He wasn’t a father, but if any one of his siblings had been within a two metre radius of that flaming car, emergency services would have been required for him, too. 

Second on the scene, or maybe third, Alec had jumped straight into the witness statements, trying his damnedest to decipher the swearing, shouting, sobbing, screeching. Diplomatically answering the same questions with the same answers. ‘He’s been taken to the hospital, ma’am.’ ‘We don’t know that just yet, sir.’ Everyone was shocked. Most were distraught. Some terrified. ‘What if that had been my boy?’ Others were callous. 'Shouldn’t’ve been out there in the first place, should he?’ But most were angry. Fuming. Foaming at the mouth furious. With him, with the vandals, with the parents, with each other. It had only been a matter of time before a fight broke out. The only question had been, who was going to throw the first punch? 

Crowd control could only do so much, and short of arresting the entire population of Lincoln Green – and a few gawpers – there wasn’t anything Alec or NYPD’s night shift could do to keep the irate neighbours in their homes, away from the burnt-out shell of evidence and, most importantly, each other. In the end, it was Mr. Ilkley, who should have been at the hospital with his wife and child long ago, and the couple next door. Neither of them could keep their damn mouths shut, not shying away from doling out the blame exactly where they saw fit, right under the noses of a man on the edge. Three slurred declarations of stupidity – they’d made quick work of a 2L bottle of Strongbow as they watched the embers fade out and die – with a muttered accusation of negligence, and that was it. Two broken noses, four sets of battered knuckles, a jaw that hung so low, Alec would have bet good money on its dislocated status, and a lone tooth sparkling up at them from the muddy grass verge. 

Bruised knuckles were an almost permanent fixture on him regardless, and looking at Mr. Ilkley’s jaw, Alec could only feel grateful that his nose was an easy fix. The other three had come off worse, not that Alec was particularly bothered. He felt sorry for the father, of course, but the elbow he’d landed squarely in Alec’s face had somewhat eased the intensity of his sympathy. Now, all he wanted was a quick visit to the duty doc, a handful of painkillers, and a taxi directly to his bed. But the sad fact was, only two of those were going to be possible, and not for a while yet either. Three more witness statements, a catch up with the SOC team combing through the smoldering remains of Number 44’s Citroen, two neighbours from hell to process – all three wanted to press assault charges, of course – and a briefing on the night’s events to have ready to deliver when Larrimore clocked in a mere four hours from now. Perfect. 

___ 

Cops and lawyers. The personification of oil and water. Lawyers were the water, of course, to the cops’ thick, slimy oil. Though, if you asked any copper worth their salt, they’d tell you the exact opposite. Magnus Bane had never cared much for convention, so pursuing somebody on the force hadn’t been much of a crisis for him. It had been a little jarring to find himself attracted to one of their breed, but he’d gotten over it relatively quickly, around the time that Alec Lightwood’s steady blush had deepened to a pretty pink after his third – or possibly fourth – cocktail of the night. Really, anyone who flushed so adorably couldn’t be anything other than harmless. 

Casting aside his phone, Magnus meandered through to the kitchen in pursuit of a healthy, easy-to-make meal that would both ease his weariness and keep him satisfied for the night, refusing to continue with his habit of relentless trips to the kitchen for biscuits, crackers and the odd piece of fruit. It was a little too much to ask, really, with anything that ticked the box of healthy having far too many steps to categorise as quick and easy. It wasn’t surprising, not really, that Alec had called to cancel their third attempt at dinner since the drink that had turned into five. He’d been sincerely apologetic, moderately embarrassed, and possibly a little pissed off. Magnus could relate, he’d be pissed off if he had to miss dinner with himself, too. It was, in all likelihood, the only thing about their professions that made them compatible. Magnus had been on a mission to make it to the end of his to do list since he was eighteen years old, and he still hadn’t managed it all these years later. By the looks of it, Alec Lightwood may be able to relate. 

In the end, he settled for a cinnamon and raisin bagel, two crackers and an apple. More accurately, he’d made the bagel, realised he was nowhere close to being full, and continued raiding his cupboards until his Chromebook started to make the awful noise that meant he now had to decide between ignoring a call, and taking a call at 7pm, at home, in his sweatpants, when he really, really didn’t want to. He let out a deep sigh, and glanced at the caller ID. “What the...” He tutted, hitting the answer button. “Ragnor, you are a thoroughly irritating man. I’ve told you! I told you to call me on my cell phone. Like a normal friend. Why? Why do you do this to me?” His pause wasn’t expectant, merely adding to the theatrics. “I thought you were that miserable old frog Whittingham. Or worse, Metcalfe!” 

“Don’t be so dramatic, Magnus.” Ragnor sounded thoroughly unimpressed, his usual condescending prattle more of an exasperated drone. “I assumed if you were out with your police officer you wouldn’t want to be disturbed, and if he’d cancelled, again, you’d be ready and waiting to dive back into your work.” He stopped, paused, then– “Like the _busy bee_ that you are.” 

Magnus rolled his eyes. He needed something salty. There must be a packet of crisps around here somewhere. Or two. “Have we got any updates on the merger?” 

“Seriously, Magnus. I know you think he’s yummy and everything–” 

“If this thing happens, there’s absolutely no way I’m working with her. You know that, right?” He grabbed the Chromebook and carried it through to his kitchen. He was sure there’d been a packet left. Maybe above the cupboards? 

“Three times in a row. Who on earth is that busy?” 

One knee up, leg on the worktop, hand on the wall, push. “I’ve already got my letter of resignation typed up and three alternate firms lined up. Just in case.” He puffed, shouldn't have skipped his workouts so often this week. “Gotcha!” 

“Got what?” 

“None of your business.” 

“Magnus.” 

“Ragnor.” 

The sigh on the other line was audible enough that Magnus could almost imagine that his friend had attempted to swallow his phone beforehand. Stubbornness. Perhaps it wasn’t the most attractive of qualities, but it certainly was a fun one. If Ragnor thought that a single one of his questions was getting answered before Magnus’, he was out of his big, beautiful mind. 

On the other line, there was a sharp, quick twist, then a _pop_. “The last I heard was the last you heard.” Clink. “And yes, I know you’d rather work as a cleaner in the Hot Topic before you shared a firm with that conniving witch.” Clink. Splash. “Now, answer my questions.” 

“Is that vodka or whiskey?” 

“Gin.” 

“Neat?” 

A tut, a splash, and another clink. “On the rocks.” 

“No mixer?” 

“It’s lemon drizzle. The mixer’s inbuilt.” Splash. Pause. Splash. “Magnus, answer my questions or I’m hanging up and you can sit there all night and stew.” 

Still poised on top of his work surface, packet gripped tightly in hand, Magnus was growing increasingly concerned at the number of measures Ragnor was attempting to fit into one glass. “Yes, I think he’s yummy.” He hopped down, stifled a groan. “No, three times in a row isn’t that many times, and me. I am that busy, and clearly, so is he.” He grabbed a bowl from the cupboard, ripped open the plastic and poured in a handful of crisps. 

“Magnus–” 

“I know why you’re worried, but there’s really no need.” A few more couldn’t hurt. “If you’d have heard the apologies, you’d probably be challenging me to a duel for his hand in marriage.” Might as well just do the full pack. “This isn’t the beginning of another Camille. I understand your concern, but I promise you, nobody will ever have my permission to treat me like that again.” Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. 

Ragnor hummed his hesitance through the speakers. “Then how come you’re already troughing your way through a family bag of crisps?” 

“They’re made of vegetables!” Magnus crunched a little harder this time, reading from the packet with his mouth intentionally full. “Parshnip, beetroot and carrot with shea shalt. Lovely.” 

Muffled voices appeared on the other line, then Ragnor's. “Don’t come to me complaining about this merger if all you’re going to do about it is sit and wallow with your vegetable crisps.” 

Crunch. Crunch. “You’re still in the office?” 

“Really, Magnus, anyone would wonder how you managed to swindle your way into this job in the first place.” 

“It’s nearly 7:30. What are you working on?” 

A sigh. “Always the world’s fault, never your own.” 

“It’s the merger, isn’t it? What’ve you found? Don’t hold out on me, Ragnor.” 

More tutting. “Keep your nose out.” 

Silence settled in the room, broken only by the finishing crunches of Magnus’ moment of self-indulgence. It was the trick that Ragnor himself had taught Magnus. Never speak first, always let the quiet roll over into uncomfortable. Anybody with something to hide will always feel the need to fill the gap before you do. Whatever they come out with after you’ve made them squirm in all that silence will be more valuable than anything you could have pulled out with a thousand well-aimed questions. Ragnor was good, but he wasn’t infallible. It’d be any minute now. Any minute now… 

Well. Possibly no– 

“Fine!” 

Magnus grinned. 

“Get down here, we’ll go through it together. I might have something.” Pause. There was more. “Get some gin on your way here, too. You know the stuff.” Then the line went dead. 

Brilliant. Magnus slotted his empty bowl into the dishwasher and grabbed his coat. Something to get his teeth into, that’s what he needed. Something more satisfying than parsnip, beetroot and carrot crisps. Shame it hadn’t been something that involved a little less Ragnor and a little more... flesh. But still. Can’t win ‘em all. 

___ 

Alec hopped off the bench and stared into the mirror. “Jesus...” 

“Ugly bastart, ain’t yer?” 

Alec snorted. Then promptly regretted it. “Seen yourself, doc?” 

The Force Medical Examiner was a small man in his late-twenties-early-fifties. His skin was unwrinkled, but his hair thin and greying. That, in conjunction with his uncanny ability to forget every officer’s name and rank, the non-human creaks and cracks and pops that left his body when he moved, and the fact that his name was _Bernard_ , made it entirely impossible to determine the man’s actual age. Alec had long since given up trying to guess, though he did stand to gain fifty bucks if it ever came out that he was anywhere between thirty-five and fourty. 

Bernard coughed, the hacked-up splutter of a man who’d smoked fifty a day for... well, however many years he’d been alive, subtract thirteen. “Ah ken laddie, but ah always look li’ah’.” 

Doc was a Scot. Bernard Brown, eldest son of Beathan and Mairead, born on one of those tiny islands just north of the other tiny island, travelling over to the mainland for the first time on his eighteenth birthday and never looking back. He wasn’t just a little Scottish, either, sporting the deep Glaswegian drawl of a man who truly, in his heart of hearts, believed that the correct way to refer to the root vegetables commonly known as potatoes, was _tatties_. He liked to talk while he worked. Alec could swear under oath that he knew more about this man than he did his own siblings. This time, he’d fixed up Alec’s flattened nose while waxing poetic about the way his sister had cooked his eggs when they were just wee bairns. A wee bit talkative for Alec’s taste. 

“Stop feelin' sorry fir yerself.” 

Alec hissed a curse as Bernard chucked a wrapped-up towel of ice onto his lap. “Thanks, doc.” 

“Cummoan, git yerself aff fir a kip, an' ah dinnae wan’ yer doon ‘ere fir another two weeks, a’least.” 

It felt a little undignified, leaving his mouth hanging open just to draw in enough oxygen to breathe, but his stuffed-with-gauze nostrils weren’t cooperating as he’d have liked them to. The bench creaked – or maybe it was him – as he eased himself back onto two feet. “Can’t. Gotta see Larrimore first.” One foot forward. 

“Fir whye yer gonnae dae tha?” 

Now the other. And again. “It won’t take long.” Two more steps. “I appreciate the help, doc–” 

“Ye're aff yer heid, laddie!” 

“Thanks agai–” 

“Yer canny–” 

“I’ll see you around!” Slam. Heavy door shutting off doc’s complaints. Bernard meant well, but his protests weren’t going to help Alec stay upright. He rolled his shoulders, straightened his spine, and lifted his chin. It was close to 7am. Those on nights were making their swift exit, the less enthusiastic day crew crawling in with their range of vices at the ready. Gripping their Costa cups, munching from Gregs packets, pulling in a final drag of Bensen and Hedges finest. The neat, square tiles below him were beginning to swirl, but bravado was all he needed. Pretend the ceiling was a reasonable distance from his head. The scuffs and dirt and chips on the walls were motionless. The ringing in his ears was an entirely healthy volume, and the psychedelic clattering of noises inside his skull was perfectly acceptable. In the end, it only took ten minutes of Larrimore’s bleating, and Alec was chomping at the bit to swallow his pride. 

“How’s the kid doing?” 

“I’ve not had the chance to call the hospital yet, sir. I was actually–” 

“Right, you get on that then. This is your priority, Lightwood. I need you–" 

“Actually, sir, I’ve been on days this week, not nights... so I’ve been on duty for about twenty-four hours, and–” 

“Oh!” Larrimore’s eyes cast up and down, hovering on the blood-soaked shirt and swollen nose. “Why didn’t you say so?” He tutted, shook his head. “I hadn’t, uh...” Frown. “You get yourself home, kid. Have you seen Bernie?” 

Alec nodded. Cringed at the spike of pain in the centre of his face. “Thank you.” 

Larrimore stared a moment longer, nodded, then swiveled his shiny shoes over to Chalmers. Probably to dump Alec’s workload on her, but he didn’t even try to find an ounce of pity. Empathy had landed him with a busted-up nose and three failed attempts at what should have been his first date in more than a year. Alec didn’t need empathy. He needed sleep. 

___ 

“One bottle of lemon flavoured poison, and the finest attorney that New York has to offer.” Magnus leaned against the door frame of Ragnor’s office, bottle held aloft. “Now, why have I been summoned?” 

“Do come in, dear friend.” Gaze pinned to his laptop. “Don’t let _every_ ounce of heat out.” 

Magnus tutted. “It’s 8:30pm on a Friday night, Ragnor. Cheer up, or I’ll go and find someone else to spend my time with.” But he closed the door anyway. 

Ragnor lifted his eyes from the screen long enough to cast them over to Magnus’ feet, where they were perched atop the shiny, glass coffee table. “Yes, make yourself comfortable.” 

There were papers everywhere, smothering the table, chairs, floor. They’d been piled onto the window ledge, balanced atop his turntable, wedged in hopefully organised clumps between his books. Magnus was sure that he'd never seen a picture that so accurately resembled the insides of his friends' brain before. Ragnor was an extremely intelligent man, his toeing of the line between mad and genius was impressive to say the least. Magnus’ respect for him was unparalleled. But, sometimes, the man didn’t make a single lick of sense. 

“That pile.” He gestured vaguely to his right. “Read them.” Shook his glass. “And fill me up.” 

A sigh. “How about we start from the beginning. What am I looking for? And more importantly, which pile?” 

Ragnor, the bastard, just grabbed his glass and shook it at Magnus. Again. 

Grumbling, he stomped over and sloshed far too much lemon poison into Ragnor’s waiting tumbler. “Lazy sod...” 

“You’re looking for anything that mentions named partners. Or the name of this place at all, and it’s the pile held up by Jane Austen.” 

And that was it. No further explanation needed. He was lucky that Magnus was a smart man. A smart man who understood the intricacies of Ragnor Fell, and trusted that he wasn’t about to waste an inhumane number of hours trawling through an irrelevant haystack of papers in search of a non-existent needle. Or, at least, he hoped.


	2. One Month's Wages

Alec shoved his key in the lock. Missed. Tried again. Swung the door open into his nice, quiet– shit. 

He let out a poorly suppressed groan and shuffled forward, into the flat that he occupied, alone, without his brother. Or, so he’d thought. “What’re you doing here?” 

Jace, to his credit, had the sense to pull a slightly apologetic face. “Nothing.” He stood up from the couch and took a step towards the door. “I’m not here.” 

Alec frowned. Maybe he did have a concussion. “You’re not?” 

“What happened to your face?” 

“Nothing.” 

They stared at each other for what was probably far too long, but Alec was in no shape to facilitate any sort of social interaction. It was questionable at the best of times, which this certainly was not. 

“I was hoping you’d help me.” 

“With what?” 

Jace frowned. “Are you alright?” 

A shrug. “Alive. What do you need help with?” 

“Can’t tell you that.” He shifted closer to Alec, craning his neck forward and peering at the mess in the middle of his brother’s face. “Concussion?” 

“Doc says not.” Alec turned away, moving further into the flat, closer to the bedroom. His only real aim for the rest of the day. “Are you in trouble, Jace?” 

A pause, then... “Not yet.” 

Alec tutted. “Why won’t you tell me?” 

“Plausible deniability.” Jace pulled open the door, glanced out into the hallway. “If you don’t need anyone on concussion watch...” He turned back, eyes coming back to rest on Alec’s Rudolph nose. “I’ll just let you rest. Catch up with you later, yeah?” 

Jace moved to leave, but Alec called him back. He’d come here for a reason, why wouldn’t he just be honest? But Jace was a force to be reckoned with when he wanted to be. In the end, exhaustion won, and Alec made Jace promise not to do anything stupid before sending him on his way. The demand was futile, he knew, but he wouldn’t be doing his job as a big brother if he didn’t bark it out anyway. Even if it fell on deaf ears. 

At last, Alec was alone. Free to do as he pleased until his phone rang, or his door went, or his conscience dragged him out of bed and back into the station for some more penance. It was then that he made his mistake. Settling into the bed, having removed as many clothes as was possible without further agitating his face, he pulled his phone from his pocket and started to scroll. Two texts from Isabelle, one from Magnus. A suspicious lack of any from Jace. That meant that he’d come to Alec’s place without calling first. If he were less tired, alarm bells would have been ringing. As it was, they were more like mildly concerned wind chimes. He stilled when he reached the news alerts, closed his eyes, and sighed. Because Thomas Ilkley, worlds youngest superman, was dead. 

___ 

There was a clump of dust caught underneath Ragnor’s chair leg. How it had got there, Magnus had no idea. The man was meticulous about his cleaning habits. Was convinced that complete, total control in all aspects of his life was the key to success. Everything had a place. Even if that place was entirely illogical to others. Magnus was in the middle of contemplating his next move when his phone pinged. Once, then twice. Should he clean it, or leave it? Get rid while Ragnor went to the bathroom, or point it out and observe the man’s efforts at maintaining a healthy shade of puce? 

Ping, again. Once more. 

“If you don’t switch that phone off, it’s going in the shredder.” 

Magnus wrinkled his nose. “You know you’ve got dustbunnies all over your floor, right?” 

Ragnor tutted. “Always been a dreadful liar.” 

“Well, maybe not all over your floor, but there is one beneath your chair.” 

Only one thing was more fun than watching Ragnor dive onto his knees and glare at the piece of fluff trapped between the floor and the chair upon which he’d just been lounging. And that was ignoring Ragnor as he dived onto his knees and glared at the piece of fluff trapped between the floor and the chair upon which he’d just been lounging. 

“How did this get here?” he hissed. 

Magnus kept his face straight and his eyes on his phone. The messages were from Alec, all four of them. First, apologising for cancelling, admitting that he’d much rather have been with Magnus. Who’s surprised? Then clarifying that his regret over the night hadn’t just been because he’d broken his nose, although that had sucked. Obviously. The third asked how Magnus’ night had been. Skipping over the part about the broken nose, it seemed. Then finally, asking if Magnus fancied doing something tomorrow, only if he was free, of course. As if Magnus would have any more appealing plans. 

“I swept this morning! This is a weeks' worth of grime, at least!” 

How should he play it? They’d had nothing more than a few flirtatious drinks together, if you discounted the thing before that. The whole colluding, risking their jobs, breaking the law together thing. 

“You did this, didn’t you?” 

Keep it simple. Honest. No tricks, no games. Either they had something, or they didn’t. Easy as that. 

“How can I be expected to work under these conditions?” 

Magnus tapped out a quick response, telling Alec there was no need to apologise, offering his condolences for the nose, and accepting the invitation for tomorrow. He hesitated over the last line that suggested they meet at Magnus’ place for drinks. Was it too suggestive? Would Alec prefer to stay in neutral territory, a bar or restaurant? But dinner seemed quite formal, and Magnus remembered all too clearly what had happened the last time the two of them had been caught spending time together outside of a professional capacity. Alec had been forced to out himself in the middle of a courtroom to save his job. Granted, they’d been asking for trouble at the time, but regardless of their own illicit activities, Alec hadn’t deserved his outing. Nobody deserved that. 

He shook himself. Hit the send button. If Alec would prefer to do something else, he was perfectly capable of communicating that to Magnus. Too much overthinking, that was his problem. But his newfound spontaneity didn’t stop him from adding a second text. A simple, or if there’s anything else you had in mind. Covered all of his bases. 

“If that’s your detective that you’re smiling about, you can bloody well take it outside.” 

“Take the phone outside, or take the smile outside?” 

Ragnor was still on the floor, swatting at the dust with a handful of tissues. “I’m willing to bet you, right now, an entire month’s wage, that he cancels on whatever plans the pair of you have just made.” 

“Your wage or my wage?” 

“Well, it would depend on who won.” 

“So, if he cancels, you get my wage, and if he doesn’t, I get your wage?” 

“Yes.” 

Magnus hummed. “Well, you earn more than me, quite significantly so.” 

“Exactly, and I’m still willing to take the bet.” 

He grinned. “You’re on.” 

___ 

“What can I get you, sergeant? Beer? Gin? Vodka? Baileys?” 

“Uh... I, um–” 

“Mojito? Manhattan? Margarita?” 

A frown. “Those are different drinks?” 

“How about a slow comfortable screw?” 

Alec opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Maybe later?” 

“Aha!” Magnus clicked his fingers, flashed a wink. “So you do know your cocktails then!” 

“Oh, you meant a cocktail?” It came out a mumble, far less seducing than he’d intended it to be, but Alec gave himself credit for producing any words at all. Muttered as they were. 

Magnus, for his part, seemed thrilled with Alec’s attempt at boldness. Eyebrows raised; grin wide. Like a child left alone in a sweet shop. “My, my, Alexander. You continue to surprise me.” 

“In good ways, I hope?” 

The answer was an even wider smile. “I’ll surprise you, if you like?” He rattled a silver tube that Alec assumed would be instrumental in making whatever concoction Magnus decided on. He got to work at Alec’s nod, wasting no time diving into the kitchen and emerging with his arms laden. One slip, and no less than an estimated $500 worth of spirits would be seeping into one glass-filled stain on Magnus’ floor. Alec himself would never have fitted such pristine, light-coloured carpet in the first place. Especially not with Chairman Meow roaming wherever he pleased. But the bottles survived the trip, as did Magnus’ flooring. Alec watched, intent, as he began pouring, mixing, measuring, shaking. More colours thrown into one. “So, detecti–” 

“Alec.” 

Magnus smirked. Like butter wouldn’t melt. “So, Alexander...” He waited for a reaction. None came. “You’re an interesting character, aren’t you?” 

Shrug. “Not really.” 

The concoction had begun to take on a blueish tone, though even as he watched it began to melt into something more reddish-purple. Magnus seemed unperturbed. “Yes really.” It went from the glass into the silver tube Alec had spotted earlier. “It’s not every day people do what you did. For Thomas Sydney, I mean.” Shake, shake, shake. Alec just hoped the lid was on tightly. 

“Just doing what’s right. Well, what seemed right.” 

“That’s precisely what I meant.” Magnus didn’t elaborate, pouring what was now a bright purple, likely potent, liquid into a martini glass and handing it over to him. “How’s the nose?” 

He stared down at the concoction. It wasn’t a martini. Those just looked like water, didn’t taste like it though. “Mostly fixed, I think. How’s it look?” 

“Good. Well, perhaps I’m a little biased, but...” 

Give it a swirl. It couldn’t be that bad. “How’s work?” 

“Ugh, doesn’t bear thinking about, Alexander. My psychotic ex-girlfriend is trying to steal my law firm, my only chance at keeping her in London where I don’t have to look at her is an absolute raving lunatic, and my boss is... well, shacking up with her boss.” 

Swirl. Swirl. Swirl. “Sounds like you’re living in a soap opera.” 

“I feel like I am!” Magnus took a gulp from his glass. A big one. 

“When you say, trying to steal your law firm?” 

Magnus abandoned his half-hearted attempts at tidying up the drinks cart, leaving bottles open, overturned and... was that dripping? 

"Her firm has proposed a merger with ours, my boss is all over it... well, she’s all over _him.”_ He launched himself onto the couch, not spilling a drop of the apparently gravity-defying liquid. 

Swirl. Swirl. Sip. “You think you’ll be able to stop it from happening?” 

“My friend, the raving lunatic, he’s come up with something. It’s a little far-fetched.” Magnus turned, piling up a mountain of pillows behind himself and crossing his legs on the couch. Alec shifted a little, keeping Magnus in his gaze. “Well, it’s not likely. I don’t really know. His explanation of the plan so far has been very limited. Mostly just grunted instructions and demands of more liquor. He likes to think he’s mysterious.” 

Sip. Swallow. Grimace. 

“More of a sweet tooth then?” 

Alec raised an eyebrow. 

“The drink.” 

“Oh.” Swirl. Swirl. “No, it’s fine. Just not really used to drinking much.” 

“Not much of a drinker?” 

He shrugged. “Not really. Only when my sister drags me out with her. You know, clubbing and stuff?” He cringed. “Then I drink. Lots.” 

Magnus chuckled. “Not really your scene?” 

“I’d rather be at work,” he grumbled. 

That earned him a snort. “I’m sure you would. Bit of a workaholic?” 

“Not necessarily.” He took a bigger gulp this time, giving a slight rasp to his voice. “I mean, maybe a bit.” 

“I’d like to be able to say that. Only a bit of a workaholic. Although, I guess you are younger than me. There’s still time.” He almost drained the glass then, leaving only an Alec-sized sip in the bottom. 

“Twenty-four.” 

Magnus smirked at Alec’s words. “I hope you’re not waiting for me to return the favour.” 

He laughed. “Not if you don’t want to.” 

With that, Magnus tipped his head back and polished off his first drink of the night. Or at least, the first one that Alec had seen him consume. “Bloody Mary?” 

Alec pulled a face. “That’s the one with tomato juice isn’t it?” 

“I’ll take that as a no. I think I have some Pimm's?” 

“You, uh...” He cleared his throat. “You could just... whatever you’re having, I don’t really mind, I–” 

“Two pornstars then?” 

Sweating. Was he sweating? “That... that’s a cocktail?” 

“It can be.” 

“Are you always this cryptic?” 

“I’m not being cryptic.” He looked away, gliding his fingers over the silver snake curled around his ear. “I’m being coy.” 

“There’s a difference?” 

Magnus grinned. “Oh, I almost forgot! We should be celebrating!” 

“Celebrating?” 

“You and I have just earned ourselves a bonus.” He paused for suspense, but Alec didn’t take the bait. “Ragnor, you know my lunatic friend I told you about? He made a bet with me last night.” 

Alec narrowed his eyes. “What kind of a bet?” 

“He bet me a month's wages that we’d have to rearrange again.” 

Shock. Guilt. Confusion. A little embarrassment. Alec carouselled through them all, landing finally on curiosity, with a little indignation mixed in there. “You... what?” 

His smile faded. “Just a little joke between friends.” 

“So he won’t actually pay you?” 

“Oh no, he will.” 

He usually wouldn’t ask, but under the circumstances... “How much is a month's wages for him?” 

“Well, partners earn a portion of the firms' income, so it’ll vary month to month. He’s just a little eccentric, is all. We make wagers of this nature fairly frequently.” 

He blinked. Again, again, again. “You frequently gamble away a month's wages?” 

“Well, not _frequently._ ” Magnus cleared his throat. “I can tell him to keep it, if it makes you uncomfortable. I hadn’t really thought it through, but I can see how that might be–” 

“No.” Alec shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s your money, you do whatever you like with it. I just...” he shook his head. “Can’t quite... get it.” 

Magnus fiddled with the stem of his glass, twirling it round and round in his fingers. “I don’t want you to misconstrue my reasons for telling you this, or for taking the bet in the first place. I was purely unwilling to be one-upped by Ragnor Fell.” 

“You haven’t said how much he actually bet you. Will it give me a heart attack, is that why?” 

He met Alec’s gaze. “Eighty-three grand.” 

“You’re joking?” Alec laughed. “You’re... you’re kidding. You–” 

“Like I said, it differs month to month, but he earned a little over a million dollars last year, so divide a million by twelve, eighty-three grand.” 

He turned on the sofa, dropping his head against the cushions. “Eighty-three grand.” 

“Really, Alexander, I’ll just call it off, tell him to mind his own business.” 

“Eighty-three grand.” 

“Are you annoyed with me?” 

“Isabelle invited me over for game night,” he whispered. “What if I’d said _yes_?” 

“Just so you know, that’s Ragnor’s wage. Mine differs vastly. Had he won, he’d have taken mine. I wouldn’t have had to give him eighty-three grand.” 

Alec rolled his eyes. “Oh, well that’s okay then.” 

“You’re not gonna ask how much I would’ve owed him?” 

“Magnus, you wouldn’t even tell me how old you are.” He scoffed as Magnus opened his mouth, held a finger in the air... and paused. 

“You... you...” He attempted to curtail his laughter. Then erupted into giggles. He clasped a hand over his mouth, shoulders beginning to shake as Alec joined him. Ribs aching, stomach clenching, Alec watched as Magnus heaved in a ragged breath. “You have a point.” 

He wiped a tear as quiet settled once again. “He really didn’t think I’d turn up, huh?” 

“Don’t take it personally. To describe him as a natural pessimist would be vastly underselling it, and I haven’t always been known to make the smartest decisions, relationship-wise.” He gave a little wave of his hand. “I understand why he’s concerned, but I did tell him he was worrying about nothing. Hence the bet.” 

“I still can’t believe how confident you were. What if I’d have cancelled?” 

“Then I’d have paid him a month's wages. I’m a man of my word, Alexander.” 

“I’ll bear that in mind.” He took another sip of his purple drink, bringing it down almost to the bottom. “Next time he wants to make a bet like that, please warn me in advance.” 

“So you can make sure not to cancel?” 

Alec grinned. “No. So I can cancel. Teach you a lesson for being so cocky.” 

Magnus barked out a laugh. “Cheeky.” He stood and held out a hand. “I’ll make those pornstars, before I change my mind and kick you out.”


	3. Hell in a Shiny Red Dress

Alec swallowed. Nearly choked on the sandpaper grating the inside of his throat. Coughed, more sandpaper. Where...? He forced his eyes open, squeezed them shut. Too bright. How much had he had to drink last night? There’d been the first one, the purple thing, then something that looked like Butterbeer but tasted like fruit cake. Then something that had looked like water but tasted like acid. A few beers, another glass of the clear stuff – it had tasted much better the second time – then a shot of something green to top it all off. Or had it been blue? He shoved his face into the pillow, groaning as he remembered the broken bone in the middle of his face. 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

Isabelle would’ve been proud of him last night, which was shameful in itself. For somebody who didn’t drink, he’d sure given himself one hell of a hangover. He sighed. Only had himself to blame. Up and out, rip the Band-Aid off, it couldn’t be that bad. He dragged himself into a sitting position and clamped a hand over his mouth. He was not going to be sick, he was not– oh. 

A puddle of green, phlegmy acid-water lay cooling on the duvet. His stomach clenched, churned, rolled. He swallowed it down. Not again. Not again. Not agai– oh fuck. 

Well, the sheets had needed changing anyway. Probably. 

He wiped his chin on a clean patch of covers and staggered to his feet. In one swoop, he gathered the vomit-spewn sheets in his arms and hobbled his way to the bathroom. Careful not to wipe anything questionable on the walls as he dumped them into the bath to deal with later. He grabbed his phone and checked the messages, squinting away from the violent shine of his screen. Two from Isabelle, one from Magnus, and one from Chalmers. He saved the first three to listen to when he was more human. Pressed play on the fourth, only to be rewarded with a lot of background noise, something indiscernible, and the words, ‘Soon as possible.’ 

Alec swore. 

He drew in a deep breath and quickly stopped as it made the bubbling of his stomach even harsher. Like a fire, oxygen only worsened the problem. He downed as much water as the churning would allow for, pocketed a pack of Ibuprofen and dragged on a clean uniform. Spent five minutes fumbling around for the keys he could have sworn he’d left in his jeans pocket. Found them waiting for him in the front door. Ridiculing him. 

Down the stairs, take a left, straight for twenty minutes. As gingerly as time would allow. He pulled out his phone as he neared the station, regretting not having had the foresight to do it sooner, now having to yell over traffic, sirens and other people yelling. 

Chalmers answered on the third ring, mouth stuffed with what was probably breakfast. 

“Chamersh shpeaking.” 

Past the Greggs, turn right at the Maccies. “It’s Alec, I’m heading in.” 

“Ah, Lightwood!” Some chewing, chomping, swallowing. “I’ve been looking for you, got an update on that case you dumped me with.” 

Step over the smeared vomit, swerve to avoid the woman charging her pram down the street like a missile. “I’ll be there in five.” 

“Great! We can go over th–” 

Alec hung up. 

___ 

Magnus was late. Not fashionably late, either. Obviously he was still fashionable, but the severity of his lateness was anything but. Why did it have to be today? Magnus gripped the small, black ball in his hand and squeezed it tight. Squeeze and release. Squeeze and release. He’d nicked the thing from Catarina after first rolling his eyes that anything so small and harmless could have any impact on something as chronic as his stress levels. But it turned out, rather irritatingly, that stress balls were in fact quite effective. For him, anyway. Though he doubted there was anything that could positively impact his emotional wellbeing today. Late to a meeting – that _he’d_ begged Elizabeth Hall for in the first place – to discuss the merger that he was so desperately trying to ram off its rails and stomp into the hard, cold, dead ground. The merger that he was willing to quit his job for. Willing to lose everything for. He squeezed the ball harder. 

Thanks to the traffic lights playing in his favour and his cat-like nimbleness, Magnus made it with only a negative six minutes to spare. It could have been worse, but it also could have been a lot, lot better. He raced inside, giving only a light speed wave to Jamie at reception instead of his usual coffee and chinwag. 

Through the double doors, taking the stairs two at a time. No time to wait for the lift. Take a right, slow his pace just a little. Can’t afford to have that little shit Rennie snapping evidence of him looking anything less than entirely put together. Nod at Connor, smile at Price, wave at Rachael. Ripping off his jacket as he speed-walked, pausing only to dump it in his office. Not even stopping when someone called his name. 

“Magnus! Magnus, I don’t think you should–” 

“Is she mad?” He skipped the last few steps and paused before knocking on the door, taking a breath and willing his face to de-flush. 

“No, but–” 

“Oh, good.” He pushed open the door at Elizabeth's call, plastered on his most apologetic smile and– 

Oh shit. 

In the room were three people. The first was Adam Davies, Harrison and Davies named partner. Advocate for the merger with Hall, Smith and Michael. Full-time London-twanged twat. Ex-friend of resident lunatic Ragnor Fell. The second was Elizabeth Hall, managing partner, only named partner actually still working for the firm, and Magnus’ boss. Screwing the aforementioned Adam Davies. 

Then last, and definitely least, was Camille Belcourt, Magnus’ ex-girlfriend. Diagnosed narcissist. Heartless excuse for a woman. Hell in a shiny red dress. 

Fantastic. 

___ 

Alec stomped up the steps to the precinct. Get in, find Chalmers, get out. 

“Lightwood!” 

Damn. Could he just keep walking? 

“Lightwood, wait!” 

If he sped up... 

“I’ve got the files you requested.” Too late. Lopez skipped around in front of him, cutting off the logical exit routes. “Sorry they took a while, had to get the green light from Judge Henley first.” He shoved a handful of papers into Alec’s hands. “They’re all on the system, this is just for your records. It dates back a while... about twenty years actually.” He flashed a grin. “Good luck!” Then he was gone. 

Alec shook his head. Twenty years? Files? He didn’t remember requesting– 

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. “Lightwood, my office.” 

He closed his eyes. Counted to ten. Only made it to three. 

“Now!” 

“Yes sir.” 

Larrimore was waiting for him, propping open the door with his foot. Prick. 

“Take a seat, Lightwood.” Larrimore waited until he'd eased himself down, then leaned back against the front of his desk just to the left of Alec. Instead of sitting in his own chair and giving them more than a few inches of personal space. “How’s the face?” 

What do you think? “Can’t complain, sir.” Only got a broken nose and two black eyes. Dipshit. 

The man squinted at him. His beady eyes trying to focus like a camera lens. “Good. I’m glad. Now, onto business...” 

Alec smiled, nodded and yes sirred his way through the impromptu meeting. Marveling at how, if a detective or, god forbid, an officer, was to demand ten minutes of an inspector's time to ask a bunch of stupid questions that they should already know the answers to, they’d be incompetent. But when someone who earned an extra three dollars an hour did it, they were _effective leaders,_ facilitating teamwork skills and steering the force to success. A good senior officer knows when to step in and lend a hand with the troops. Organising their officers, distributing resources, building morale. Any one of a handful of excuses to hide the fact that they didn’t have a fucking clue what– 

“Lightwood?” 

Shit. Alec cleared his throat. “Er... in what way, sir?” 

“Well, do you think you’ll need another officer on this? Lopez, or Anderson?” 

“Um, well, I’d never say no to an extra pair of hands. But I’m sure I’d be fine without, too.” 

A nod. “Lopez, then. He’s yours until this is over. Sort it out between yourselves.” 

So much for organising. “Thank you, sir. I’ll get right on that.” 

“Good. Keep me updated.” 

And just like that, Alec was dismissed. He gave a quick, “Thank you, sir,” and made a swift exit. It wasn’t a habit of Alec’s to spend even the smallest amount of time with Larrimore that he didn’t absolutely have to. Or any senior officer, for that matter. 

He caught up with Chalmers – apparently a witness had seen a big man in a parka, hat, mask, and gloves carrying a duffle bag just minutes before the fire – then broke the news to Lopez that he’d been passed off to Alec for the duration of the arson case. He could easily have made the trip alone, but he now that he had Lopez, he may as well get the other man to drive. He’d just have to make sure that Lopez drove slowly. As though he had a pensioner in his passenger seat. A pensioner with a hangover. 

___ 

“Hall, Harrison and Davies!” Camille flashed him a wink as she popped the cork from the champagne bottle. “Let’s celebrate.” 

Krug Clos d’Ambonnay Blanc de Noirs Brut. Magnus recognised the bottle. Around twenty years old, sold for an average of two thousand dollars. Enough to sustain a family of four for a month, and Magnus was seriously considering dumping the whole thing over her big, smug head. It wasn’t as if he was going to be needing his job for much longer, anyway. 

Hugh, Lewis and Morgan had offered him a steep increase to his current salary if he accepted a job over with them, but that didn’t matter to Magnus. Kennedy, Abbott and Cleary had been trying to recruit Magnus for the past five years, but that didn’t matter much to him either. Magnus liked his job. He liked the work. He liked his colleagues. Some of them he could do without, but a lot of them were genuinely kind people who he’d be sad to say goodbye to. 

He liked the parking, the fact that there actually was parking. Something that couldn’t be said for many places in the city. He liked the building, the fact that it was right on his bus route on those days he was too tired to drive. He liked that their lanyards were a colourful shade of pink instead of the dull grey, black or blue sported by so many other firms. The fact that he’d finally learned everyone’s names. Who to cross and who to not. He liked the coffee shop just around the corner. It’s owner, Marjorie, who’d sometimes slip him in a brownie that he hadn’t ordered. ‘You need feeding up, sweetheart.’ 

This was Magnus’ home, not hers. It sickened him that she was pushing him from a place that he belonged, somewhere that he was supposed to be. But he’d learned long ago that spite was a quality more harmful to him than anyone else. Choosing to stay somewhere he knew he’d be miserable, just to prove... something, was not a choice he could bring himself to make. Maybe a decade ago, but certainly not today. 

“Adam, Camille, welcome to New York.” He slapped on a smile. “I won’t keep you.” 

“Magnus Bane, as I live and breeve,” Adam drawled. His cockney accent adding vastly to his punchability. “Stay! ‘Ave a drink wiv us. We’re celebra’in!” 

“I’m sure you are.” Smile again. “Really, I couldn’t intrude.” He spun around, grabbed the handle and– 

“Nonsense. There’s an extra glass anyway.” Elizabeth stepped around the desk and offered him a chute, already filled with fizz. “You work hard, Magnus. Have a drink.” 

It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know their history, probably didn’t even know that they’d used to date. So it really, truly wasn’t her fault. But Magnus still wanted to drown her in expensive champagne right along with Camille and that cockney bottle and glass. 

“Great.”


	4. Leviathan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day cos i felt like it x

Dominic was a loyal friend. His dad had always said so. Back in kindergarten, holding his friends coats every recess so they could play football without him. In year two, when he’d told Miss Jackson that he was the one who’d let Gerald out into the staffroom. The Gerbil hadn’t lasted two minutes against Mrs. Carter’s high-heeled shoes. Dominic had cried and cried and said he was sorry. They’d tried to persuade him to tell the truth, that it hadn’t been him who’d played the prank, but he hadn’t said a word. 

Then again, in year eleven, when he’d told everybody that he’d slipped and fallen down the stairs at school. Jonathon hadn’t even been with him at the time. It was a lie, but they didn’t need to know that. Jonathon was his friend, and he hadn’t meant to push Dominic so hard. He'd just made Jonathon too angry, that’s all. But Jonathon had bought him a packet of crunchie bars – the king-sized ones, six in a pack – and said he was sorry. So Dominic never said a word.

He’d always been a good friend, always loyal, ever since he was born. That’s why Jonathon liked him so much. Jonathon always bought him drinks at Hawley’s. He stopped people from calling him Dom, which Dominic hated. If anyone looked at him funny, Jonathon would look at them funny right back. And people didn’t like it when Jonathon looked at them funny. The last person who’d upset Jonathon.... He laughed as he twisted the cap from the big, green can on his lap. The smell was disgusting, like bleach and rotten fish. Sharp. Tangy. Melted. 

He slugged it out along the stone slab floor. Pour. Pour. Pour. 

Would it explode, like it did in the movies? The last one hadn’t, but this was different, wasn’t it? Jonathon said it needed to be bigger this time. Needed to make sure they understood the message. Dominic wasn’t exactly sure what the message was, but Jonathon was. And Dominic trusted Jonathon. 

Open the door, out into the hallway. The car had been too small, apparently. They needed something better. More along the carpet, on the wall, up the stairs. Pour. Pour. Pour. Jonathon had made sure that the house was empty. He was good like that, kind. Never wanted to hurt anybody. Only those who needed to be hurt. Like the man who’d hurt Dominic’s hand, round the back of Hawley’s. He hadn’t done it again. In fact, Dominic hadn’t seen him since. 

He retraced his steps, back down the stairs, through the hallway and into the garage. If he started with the car, the flames would spread through the whole house, and Dominic wouldn’t have to be anywhere near the place. Just drop the match, duck under the garage, and out into the night. Easy-peasy. Maybe a little scary. Perhaps he’d rather be tucked up in bed with his blanket and a hot chocolate, instead of in a stranger's garage trying to wipe the smell of his father's old barbeques onto his jeans. But Jonathon was relying on him. And Dominic had always been a loyal friend... 

___ 

“What’s the plan then, bosh?” 

Alec glanced over at Lopez. Chewing the tip of his biro between his teeth. He’d pull a molar out if he wasn’t careful. “Someone saw a big guy in a beanie wandering around Lincoln Green just before the fire.” 

“Sho, we shpeak to them, get the deets, then find the big guy in the beanie. Shounds eashy enough!” 

He wouldn’t roll his eyes. He wouldn’t. “Basically, yes.” 

“Great! Who’sh gonna be the bad cop then? Cosh I don’t mind, but, and no offenshe here shir, but I do think you’re shcarier. Jusht a bit, yanno?” 

No, he didn’t. “We don’t need a bad cop, Lopez. We’re talking to a witness, not a suspec– Woah! Slow down!” 

“Wha?” Lopez turned to Alec, seemingly forgetting he was in charge of a heavy piece of machinery at the time. 

“Eyes on the road! You just cut that guy up!” 

Lopez laughed. “I pashed my high-shpeed driversh courshe, yanno?” He yanked the wheel to the left, doing fourty round an almost blind bend. 

“And it will all have been for nothing if you get us both killed while we’re not even chasing anybody!” He gripped the edge of his seat, head down, eyes closed. Deep breath, not going to be sick. Not going to be sick. 

“Don’t worry, bosh, I’m a really good driver.” 

“A really good– Jesus.” Alec straightened up and turned to his partner. “Slow the fuck down. Right now.” 

Lopez took one look at Alec’s face, spat out the biro and stamped on the breaks. Let the silence settle for a moment. Then broke out a shit-eating grin. “Told ya, scary.” 

___ 

“Conniving, selfish, devious, heartless, did I say conniving?” 

Ragnor clinked the bottle against Magnus’ glass and sloshed in another measure. “Think you might have done, yes.” 

Camille Belcourt was the only person Magnus had ever encountered who swayed him over to the thinking of Thomas Hobbes in 1651. That life in the state of nature, without the authority of a political state, is ‘solitary, poore, nasty, brutish and short.’ Essentially, that humans were inherently unsocialised brutes, and only a strict, political regime could keep them on the straight and narrow. Magnus was a humanist, through and through, but five minutes in Ms. Belcourt's presence had him switching sides sharpish. He wanted to agree with Rousseau, that humans were all innately good, corrupted only by social institutions and lived experience. But Camille wasn’t corrupted, she was cruel. She didn’t act like a brute out of some misguided, ‘Get them before they get you,’ attitude. She did it for the pure thrill. The enjoyment, the satisfaction. Camille had been born evil, and had only grown into her role ever since. 

_“How’ve you been, darling?”_ He retched, taking a swig of Ragnor’s lemon poison to rid his mouth of the taste of her words. “ _I haven’t seen you since New Year's Eve!”_ More retching. Another gulp. “What a dreadful, vile, foul pi– 

_“Yes.”_ Ragnor sighed. “I heard you the first time.” 

Magnus glanced over his shoulder at the closed door behind him. “Right. It’s go time, my friend. What’re we doing about this?” 

“Well, I’ve got something, but it’s weak.” Ragnor paused for dramatic effect. The old fool couldn’t help himself. “And I mean, drank so much that you’ve convinced your hand it’s got arthritis and can’t hold a glass anymore, weak.” 

From outside Ragnor’s office, a clattering noise trembled its way underneath the door. Followed by a round of yelling. Probably a fight breaking out in the associate's pen. Camille’s presence tended to have that impact on everybody within a two-mile radius. “I’ll take it. Whatever you’ve got.” 

Ragnor sighed, muttering under his breath. “Shouldn’t even be...” Fingers pressed into his eyes. “...stupid, stupid–” 

“Stop grumbling,” he ordered. “It’s weak or nothing.” 

“This really isn’t my best work.” Ragnor pursed his lips. “It’s a little embarrassing how thin it is, actually. If it were anyone else, I’d have sent them packing long ago.” 

“Jesus...” A screech juddered through the room as he shoved back from the desk. “If you don’t want to help me–” 

Ragnor held out a hand. “Sit down, shut up.” 

Another bout of raised voices echoed from the associate pen. Magnus narrowed his eyes. 

“ _Don’t_ get all stroppy on me.” 

Magnus huffed. “Fine.” He wrenched the chair backwards and threw himself down. Folded his arms. Raised an eyebrow. “Go on then.” 

“I said sit down and _shut up._ ” 

Teeth clenched tightly enough to earn himself a spot in his dentists' bad books, Magnus lifted a hand to his lips, _zipped_ them shut, and glared. 

A nod. “Good boy. Now. Let’s get to business.” He closed the lid of his laptop and pushed a handful of papers across the desk. “It’s highlighted.” 

Magnus skimmed down the page, landing on the neon block of text Ragnor pointed out. “In the interest of... blah blah... agreed upon by... Can you not just tell me?” 

Ragnor tutted. “I can’t do everything for you.” 

“...Hall, Smith and Michael shall remain... the duration... or a period of five years, whichever eventuality is to arise... OK, I can see where you might be going with this, but–” 

“I did warn you that it was weak.” 

A yell sounded outside. Magnus jerked up out of his seat. “What the hell are they doing out there?” 

“What we don’t know can’t hurt us, dear boy.” Ragnor motioned at the chair in front of his desk and waited for Magnus to settle back down. “It's right there in black and white. Now, this in itself isn’t enough to make the deal fall through. Elizabeth could easily get this changed if she wanted to, but...” He sighed. “Now this is the part I’m iffy about...” Lips pressed together into a thin line, he hummed, then seemed to make his decision. “If this was handled well, it wouldn’t be a problem, but if it wasn’t handled well, say if Adam was to find out about this from somebody other than Elisa, and was led to believe that the reason this hadn’t been divulged was because of some not so pure intentions on our part–” 

“Like us wanting to push him out–” 

“Exactly, then that could be enough–” 

“He could change his mind about the merger altogether!” 

Ragnor cleared his throat and looked up at Magnus. “Well, yes, that thought had crossed my mind, I will admit.” 

“Sorry.” He smiled, sheepish. “And, for the rest of it...” He motioned in the air, hand twisting vaguely in front of him. “You know.” 

“No.” 

“For earlier. The, you know...” 

“I truly don’t know what you’re talking about Magnus, could you be more specific?” 

Magnus glanced down at his hands. “I apologise for snapping at you, Ragnor. I was taking out my stress on you, and I shouldn’t have done that, so I apologise.” 

A collective roar broke out, this time with a hammering of applause, and Ragnor smirked. “Okay, watch this.” Apparently done with Magnus’ apology, he shoved out from behind his desk and marched out into the corridor. It was the stupid poll the associates ran, grown adults placing bets their colleague's personal lives with nothing but gossip deciding the odds. Magnus was guilty of the occasional misguided wager with Ragnor, usually after a little too much indulgence on the fine wine front, but those were bets between friends. Who could go the longest without insulting the other? Which one would be the first to crack a case that month? Who could take on the most pro bono cases? 

Granted, their last bet had taken on a slightly different edge, with the stakes uncharacteristically high, but they were harmless for the most part. The associates, on the other hand, would bet money that they didn’t have on people that they didn’t even know. It was rather dense, in Magnus’ humble opinion, but he did try to refrain from passing judgement on whatever vice got them through the miserable existence of a first year law associate. 

“You!” Ragnor stormed into the pen, pointing at random. 

Jerry balancing atop his chair, a stack of papers in hand. Susan scrambling to wrench them out of his hands, sending them into a cascade of rumours and mud-slinging. Duncan launching himself behind the definitely not-opaque screen splitting off his desk from Tony’s. Magnus tried to tame his smirk at the scene, but in the end he didn’t have much luck. He snorted a laugh when Ragnor snatched a bundle of papers from the six-foot, quivering body-builder above him. 

“...blah blah blah shagging... blah blah blah shagging... Jesus!” He threw the papers back at Jerry, still perched precariously two feet above the older man, a juxtaposition that Magnus found rather amusing. He leaned against the door frame and watched as his friend rifled through a second stack, knowing that he was utterly unbothered as to the contents of any of them. “Right, where is it?” 

Jerry’s bottom lip trembled. “Where’s what?” 

Ragnor said nothing, just stared at the terrified man. No glare, no threats, just the calm, collected stare of a partially unhinged boss. 

“I don’t have it!” he cried. “I don’t have it. I don’t–” 

“Who does?” 

Voice less than a whisper, he glanced over to the screen that his friend was attempting to use as a shield. “Duncan.” 

Ragnor smiled. “Oh Duncan... come out, come out, wherever you are.” 

A few feet shorter than Jerry, even without a chair rigging the game, Duncan was a slim, unthreatening looking fellow. He looked more like a jockey in opposition to his jock friend, yet his bottom lip never budged. 

“My office. Now.” 

___ 

Form a square in your head, she’d told him. Trace the edges as you breathe in... and breathe out. Showing him as she’d gone along. He’d rolled his eyes at the time, but it was something he’d used almost every day since. Breathe in, to the right, one, two, three, four. Now down, one, two three four. To the left, one, two, three, four. And up, one, two, three, four. Again. Breathe in, one, two, three, four... and out, one, two, three, four. Three little squares it took him, but it worked. 

“Did ah no’ tell yer?” 

“Uh...” 

Bernard slammed his laptop shut. “Wha’ did ah tell ye?” 

“You–” 

“Tha’ ah didnae wan’ yer ‘ere fer a’least another two weeks.” 

In and out, in and out. “Right–” 

“When did ah tell yer tha’ then, Lightwood?” 

“Um, yest–” 

“Less than twen’y-four hours ago.” 

"Well, actually, that was around 7am Saturday, and it’s closer to 7pm Sunday now, so...” He swallowed. “Right. Never mind.” 

“Though’ so.” 

The older man levelled one more glare Alec’s way, then turned to rifle through his box of goodies with a scoff. Muttering to himself. “Feckin eidjits... canny throw a punch... buncha feckin dunderheids...” Then finally to Alec. “Twice in as many days? You goin’ fer a hat trick?” 

“Wasn’t going for anything,” he muttered, bringing a hand up to rub at his aching jaw. 

Bernard slapped it out of the way. “Stop fiddlin’ wi’ yerself.” 

Alec sighed. As crackpot as he was, Bernard was damned good at his job. The medical parts of it, anyway. The human interaction side could have room for improvement. 

He hummed as he worked, which suited Alec just fine.

How had it all gone so wrong? One minute they were knocking on their witness's door, the next he was on his ass, head spinning, mud soaking its way... everywhere. Again. 

They’d spotted a tall, wide man in a parka, beanie and gloves, ducking out from under the garage of number 46. Just as their witness had described. Possibly a coincidence, probably not. He and Lopez had given chase, with the latter managing to fall so far behind he’d been nothing but a dot in Alec’s rear view by the end of it. How he’d ever managed to pass the fitness test, or the written exams for that matter, Alec had no idea. 

Bernard was singing softly now, coating cotton wool in some sort of cleanser. Probably just vodka, knowing the Scotsman. "I belong to Glasgow...” 

It must be the same man; coincidences weren’t a part of Alec’s vocabulary. The house had been ablaze seconds after they’d given chase, according to Lopez. Who, of course, had been close enough to see it happen. 

“...old Glasgow town...” 

But why target that house? The family were away, visiting family in Texas apparently. Maybe big, beanie man had chosen them because they were Texans? Perhaps he had an issue with the Lone Star State. He wouldn’t be the first. 

“...matter with Glasgow...” 

There weren’t any cameras on the estate, not even a private CCTV setup. Alec had asked every inhabitant of Lincoln Green and surrounding areas after the first spate of vandalism. No luck. Either nobody who lived on the estate suffered any kind of paranoia, or nobody who’d been paranoid enough to install CCTV wanted police having access to their CCTV. 

“...goon ‘roon an’ ‘roon...” 

He’d have to chase up the wider search now, cameras further afield that could have caught a shot of big, beanie man as he ran from a bleeding, dazed Alec. Or as he donned the gear on his way to murder a nine-year-old child on Friday night. 

“...only a common auld working chap...” 

Bernard was finished cleaning the wound, now applying some sort of potent salve. It likely wasn’t NYPD approved, just Bernard approved. Something he’d whipped up in his shed-laboratory. If Alec thought about it too hard, he’d begin to panic. Sometimes, ignorance was bliss. 

“...when ah get pished on a Saturday...” 

What was his stake in this? Why set fire to cars and houses and tiny school children in the quiet, unassuming village of Cromwell? Had he been the first to wreak havoc on the street, a catalyst for the resulting weeks of chaos? Or had he witnessed the carnage and decided that the remanence of Lincoln Green made for an easy place to get away with mindless vandalism? 

“...Glasgow belongs to me!” 

The salve was finished with now, leaving Bernard just poking and prodding at various parts of Alec’s face. “Awrite laddie, jus' look ‘ere?” He held out a hand inches away from his eyes, aiming his torch straight at Alec’s retinas. Stayed that way for a moment, umming and ahhing, creasing his eyebrows, then it was over. No concussion, just one case of being a dunderheid, apparently. 

Bernard sent Alec on his way with a pack of ice and a few final insults. He knew he should leave, head straight back to his office and onto the case. There were criminals to be apprehended, justice to be had. But Alec couldn’t quite set his feet moving. He pressed his lips together. There probably wasn’t much point, it wasn’t like he’d answer anyway. Alec pulled out his phone. Maybe he’d just leave a message? The other man definitely had better things to do than sit around and wait for Alec to– 

“Alexander! This is a nice surprise. Aren’t you at work?” 

“Oh... I, um.” He ducked into the supply cupboard just next to Bernard’s room. “I’m still at work, I just wanted to say hi. Wasn’t sure you’d answer honestly,” he mumbled. “If you’re busy I can...” He trailed off as a second voice emerged on the line. 

Some mumbling, then Magnus tutted. “Mind your business– Wait, not you, Alexander!” 

He tried again. “If you’re busy I can leave you to it.” 

“No, no, not busy,” Magnus replied. “Just trying to explain to my friend here the concept of social interaction. Anything outside of work, he doesn’t really understand. Thinks it’s the devil trying to tempt him into being just above average.” A door slammed, some rustling, then Magnus again. “Sorry, my friend Ragnor. He’s a little overexcited, just spent the afternoon terrorising our associates. Is everything alright, Alexander?” 

“Yeah, all good, just wanted to say hello. What’s he been doing to the associates?” 

“Well, there’s this monthly poll that they do, taking bets on all the latest gossip, pretty much, who’s shagging who, with a few, who's getting canned this month and who’ll be the first to have a breakdown. Mostly harmless, just keeps up morale.” 

Alec frowned. “That keeps up morale?” 

“For lawyers it does. They like to gossip.” 

“I guess that’s the equivalent of our swear jar. We take it down the pub at the end of the month. Steel’s been keeping NYPD in free booze for years.” 

Something slammed into the wall behind him. “Get oot af me cupboard, ya wee theivin’ bastart!” 

“Do you need to go?” 

“Nah, that’s just our medic. He’s nice enough, just... Scottish.” 

Magnus laughed. “Are you allowed to say that?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry, he likes it. He’d come to work in a kilt if it wasn’t so impractical. One sec.” Alec banged his palm against the wall a few times. “It’s just me Bernard!” Then brought the phone back up to his ear. “Go on then, sorry. You were saying about the poll?” 

“Well, they were making a huge racket with it today. The partners all know about it, some even place bets, but Ragnor stormed in all guns blazing and pretended to be fuming. Demanded to see who’d been taking part. One of them, Jerry, bit of a wuss, pointed out his friend in about three seconds flat.” Magnus scoffed, squeezing his voice into a higher register. “He’s got the list, it’s him!” 

Alec cringed. “Oof. That’s not what you wanna hear.” 

“Indeed. His friend didn’t budge though, Duncan. Ragnor took him into his office, spent about twenty minutes trying to crack him, threatened his job, his car–” 

“His car?” 

Magus snorted. “Said he’d set fire to his car.” 

Alec burst out a laugh. “He _what_?” 

“Don’t ask.” Magnus gave an exasperated sigh, though Alec expected he was more amused than he let on. “Duncan didn’t give him anything though. I’d bet you any money it was in his pocket the whole time, their list of everyone who’d placed a bet in the last month. Probably more, if they kept it all together. He wasn’t for telling though.” 

“Did you tell him in the end, that he wasn’t in trouble?” 

“Ragnor did. He’s–” More rustling, muffled voices. “Sorry–” 

“You need to go?” 

“Yes, apologies Alexander, I–” 

“No, don’t apologise, I’m just glad I caught you.” 

“I’m glad you caught me too.” 

Alec smiled. “Alright, I’ll, uh, I’ll speak to you later? Have a good day.” 

“Course, you too, Alexander. See you soon.” 

"See you soon.”


	5. 8 Ball

“I have never been so frustrated in my life!” Magnus snapped. The wall stared back at him, blank. His back twinged, his calf ached, his eyes burned and his jaw was angry that it had been clamped shut for so long. “Stupid, fucking, bastarding, wank–” His phone pinged. “Oh, ready to answer me now, are you?” 

It wasn’t her fault. She probably had about five people on the go at once, angry people who couldn’t follow simple instructions, Magnus being one of them, but that didn’t help his mood. He’d spent half an hour in deep discussion with AT&T’s customer service robot, before realising that the reason the robot had been so adamant that he didn’t have a contract with AT&T, was because his new contract was with T-Mobile. Magnus had been ready to swing, but instead, he’d apologised profusely to Samantha – apparently, customer service bots needed names – and switched over to Jeremy. 

Jeremy had been enthusiastic, but not at all helpful, and he’d finally passed Magnus to Kimberly, where he'd been treated to his first human interaction of the day. The two of them had been texting back and forth for the better part of an hour, and Magnus was starting to feel like a needy date. It was 10am, he’d been awake for four hours, three of which had been dedicated to putting a SIM card in a phone and making it turn on. Something so simple, yet so infuriatingly complicated. He was late for work, hadn’t checked a single email, couldn’t have responded to any of his texts even if he wanted to, and he was relatively certain that there was somewhere he was supposed to have been half an hour ago. 

In the end, he had to give it up. Magnus was good at his job, and excellence came with certain leniencies when it came to clocking in on time and attending every boring meeting that dragged on for days, but swanning in after noon was a little too far, even for him. If he left now, no makeup, hair flat, he’d make it in time to be able to say good morning to Jamie on reception and have it not be a lie. Probably. 

___ 

He stomped into the building just after twelve. Said good afternoon to Jamie, because traffic hadn’t been kind to him. Whisked past Joseph arguing with the photocopier. Maggie having a good go at splitting her stress ball in two. Angie rolling a ciggie under the desk, ready for some _fresh air_ over lunch. Camille in the boardroom with Ragnor's client. Joe circling around his desk with a vacant stare. 

Wait. Camille in the boardroom with– 

“Magnus, hi! Have you got a moment? I was hoping we could go over the–” 

“So sorry, Dolores, I’m running awfully late this morning. How does 2pm sound for a catch up?” 

“That’d be perfect, lovie,” she called as he strode to the glass-walled boardroom. Magnus turned and flashed her a smile, then straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin, and swept inside. 

Abbi jumped from her seat as he entered. “Magnus!” She held out her arms and circled the table. “It’s wonderful to see you!” Then a frown. “Ms. Belcourt said you were sick?” 

“Ah, Ms. Belcourt was mistaken.” 

Camille simpered behind them. “Please, Miss Adams, call me Camille.” 

Abbi didn’t turn around. “You’re alright, Magnus?” 

He wrenched a small smile onto his face. “Just peachy, Abigail. Is there anything you were needing help with?” 

She shook her head. “No, Camille just called me and–” 

“Adam has tasked me with–” 

“–asked me to come in–” 

“–managing the client relations aspect of our merger.” 

“–and I was in the area.” 

Camille smiled. “Just making sure our clients know our faces. We are one big team now, after all.” 

Twenty-five to life. It’d probably be worth it. “Oh, okay. Well, Abigail, if you’d like to stay–” 

“No, that’s quite alright. I appreciate Ms. Belcourt's _hospitality,_ but I’m happy with the job that Ragnor does. I’m sure I’ll get to know the rest of the team in due time.” A glance at Camille. “No client relations needed here.” She took Magnus’ hand. “Here, you can walk me out? Unless you’re busy, of course.” 

Magnus shook his head. “No, not at all.” 

Gripping him tightly, Abbi led them to the door, pulled it open, and pushed him through. She followed without a word to Camille, not even turning around. She only released him when the boardroom was no longer in sight. 

“It’s lovely to see you Abigail, I’m sorry if you’ve had a wasted journey, though.” 

“Oh not at all.” She waved him off. “I really was in the area. Didn’t buy what she was selling, though. Anything I should know about, sweetheart?” 

Magnus glanced over his shoulder. “Nothing that will affect your business at all,” he assured. “Arrangements are being made for a merger between Hall, Smith and Michael, and Harrison and Davies. I’m sure the announcement will be made soon enough.” Another glance around. Could never be too careful, lest you wanted your private life to end up on the poll come sunrise. “The merger is a brilliant opportunity for the firm, truly, but Camille and I used to date, long ago, and I fear she may be holding onto more resentment than I’d realised.” He glanced up at Abigail. “Entirely undeserved resentment, may I add. Camille was unfaithful, I was not. I wouldn’t want you thinking–” 

“It never crossed my mind.” 

He smiled. “Good.” She was the first client Magnus had ever signed to the firm. He no longer dealt with corporate law, and Abigail was now officially Ragnor’s client, but he cared about her opinion of him nonetheless. 

They came to a stop just short of the entrance, Abbi pulling him in for a tight hug. “You’ve got your hands full with that one. Don’t let her take what’s yours, sweetheart.” 

Magnus nodded, startled at the sudden appearance of moisture in his eyes. “Thank you.” 

A kiss on the cheek, and she was gone. Magnus stood for a moment, pondering her final words. She wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t always as simple as that. Though, with Camille’s latest actions, he wondered if she hadn’t just made it so. 

___ 

“There you are, you missed the meeting!” 

He looked up as Ragnor stormed into his office. “Never heard of knocking? 

“I’m serious, I’ve been texting you all day–” 

Magnus swore. “I’m trying to switch my number, it’s taken all day and I haven’t even–” 

“I was going to drop our bomb into conversation with Sally, you know what she’s like, one word to her and it’ll be all over the poll in seconds.” 

“You didn’t do it?” 

“No!” Ragnor threw his arms into the air. “You were on the fence and I wanted to–” 

“Camille just tried to steal your client.” 

“What? When? Which one?” 

“Abigail, about thirty minutes ago.” 

Ragnor pulled a face. “She said she was sick, that’s why she couldn’t join the partner meeting th– Hey, why do you look so thrilled about this?” 

Magnus grinned. “I think we can do this without playing dirty, Ragnor.” 

A huff. “Care to elaborate?” 

“No time, I have scheming to do. If all goes well, I’ll fill you in. If not, I’ll send you the details of my leaving party.” 

Muttering under his breath, Ragnor spun on his heel and stalked over to the door. “Bloody ridiculous... little sod... ungrateful...” He turned, gave one last shake of his head, and slammed the door behind him. 

Magnus snorted. “And people say I'm dramatic.” 

___ 

“So, what was the third?” 

Magnus could count on one hand the amount of people who knew the two stories he’d just confessed to Alec Lightwood. The only three cases he’d ever lost in his decade of practicing law. Magnus pulled the blanket down closer around his legs. Fire crackling in the living room, the pop pop pop of his turntable, a steady pattering of rain against his windows. It was a hopeless romantic’s dream coming to life. Magnus almost didn’t want to leave, but he knew they should. Alec had texted him at around 5pm, asking if he wanted to grab a few drinks somewhere local. Nothing crazy, just to spend some time together. He’d offered to pick Magnus up then head out together, but he’d already been sodden by the time he’d arrived. Magnus had ushered him inside, chastising him for the lack of foresight in bringing an umbrella. And that had already been an hour ago. 

“The rain’s starting to ease now, if you wanted to head out?” 

Alec bolted upright in his chair. “You can’t hold out on me now!” 

“There’s a nice place around the corner, only a few minutes away.” 

“It can’t have been that bad?” 

Magnus stood. “It’s not normally that busy either.” 

It was the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object. Neither would cave, neither would move, neither would blink. But in the end, the desire to continue talking beat both the object and the force. 

“Compromise. Let’s walk, I’ll tell you when we get there.” 

Alec stared a moment, then stuck out his hand for Magnus to shake. 

“Do you not trust me?” 

Eyebrow raised. “So you’re not willing to shake on it?” 

Magnus huffed out a laugh and accepted Alec’s hand. “Fine.” He swept his way over to the door and propped it open for Alec. “Now let’s go. I’ll need a drink before I tell you this one.” 

___ 

“She was working with them?” 

Magnus nodded, grim. “She was. And you know what I did?” He waited, but Alec didn’t take the bait. “I forgave her.” 

Alec knew he looked stupid, mouth open, eyes wide, but he couldn’t help himself. The tale of Magnus’ third and final defeat in a court of law had been too astonishing for a calm, collected reaction. 

“I know, I know.” A sigh. Magnus plonked down the final ball into the triangle of plastic. “You can probably understand why Ragnor made that bet with me now, can’t you? I do have a history of letting people do worse things to me than reschedule a few times in a row.” 

Ah. “About that, I–” 

“No, no, don’t worry.” Magnus waved him off. “It’s probably a good thing, start as you mean to go on, you know?” He lifted the triangle and slid it back under the table. “I’m sure there’ll be times when I have to do the same to you, so I apologise in advance.” 

He shook his head. “Not necessary.” 

Magnus quirked an eyebrow. “So, you have to apologise, but I don’t.” 

“Something like that.” The other man looked set to argue, but Alec pushed on. “Anyway, you were saying?” He grabbed his cue and scraped blue chalk over the tip, just for something to do. 

“You want to break?” 

He shrugged. “Don’t mind.” 

“How competitive are you? 

“How good are you at pool?” 

A grin. “Guess we’ll just have to find out.” 

More chalk. “You’re on.” 

They played their first game, with Magnus finally finishing the story of his most recent, and most troubling, loss. It turned out that Camille had not only been unfaithful romantically, but also professionally. Going behind Magnus’ back, she had fed information to opposing counsel on one of his biggest trials to date. It had cost him a win that should have been his, and it had cost his client millions. This was back when he’d still been in corporate law, helping rich people to stay even richer. It had never been his long-term plan though, apparently. More of a means to an end, and he was much happier as a defense attorney. Much less money, much more passion. 

It all came down the kind of person you wanted to be, and as Magnus talked, Alec couldn’t help but jump for joy that the man he’d known nothing of other than his professional expertise and rather intimidating dress sense, had turned out to be a kind, gentle, selfless person. It could so easily have gone another way entirely, with Alec approaching Magnus all those weeks ago, throwing himself out on a limb, and getting burned for his trouble. Instead, he’d held out an olive branch and been handed back a gift set, bow and all. 

“Your turn, darling.” 

Only the black was left. Magnus had just missed his shot by millimetres, leaving the black hovering right over the pocket, but the white in entirely the wrong place to get the shot in. His only real option was to bounce it off the cushion, perfectly aimed to roll back and tap the black into the pocket. Too hard, and the white would follow right along with it. Too gentle, and he’d be lining Magnus up for the easiest shot of his life. 

The weight of the world rested on Alec’s shoulders as he bent over the table. He’d fudged a shot right at the start, not enjoying the almost indiscernible pout on Magnus’ face, but he’d very quickly realised after the other man’s undeniable clean-up that he’d been played. Now it was on. Alec was not going to lose this game. He wasn’t going to lose to a lawyer. He wasn’t going to lose to his date. And he most certainly was not going to lose to that, ‘Already got it in the bag,’ smirk that Magnus was currently wearing. 

Test the angle from the cushion. Line up the shot. Deep breath. Ignore the fact that the way he was leaning had him pushing his ass out in a way that he’d rather have avoided on a second date. And... tap. Roll. Roll. Roll. Too slow. It wasn’t going to– 

“Yes!” A handful of eyes turned to face Alec. He gave a half-aborted wave and mumbled an apology. 

“Well, that answers my question.” Magnus leant against the back wall, spinning his cue in hand. “Best of three?” 

___ 

Alec took another slug of his beer; it went down easier after the first couple. “Have you had any luck with the merger stuff yet?” 

“You know, I just might have.” Magnus smiled. “She tried to steal Ragnor’s client today.” 

“What? How?” 

“Well, it was a bit odd really. I was supposed to be in the same meeting as her, but I was late, which is a whole other story.” He rolled his eyes at that. “So I saw her with his client when I obviously wasn’t supposed to. She must have thought she could claw Abigail over to the dark side.” 

A frown. “And you think that’s a good thing?” 

“It goes a long way to proving that she’s not in this merger for the right reasons.” Magnus took a sip of his half-red, half-orange concoction. “It might come to nothing, but it gives me a shot, at least.” 

“Well, good luck.” He sipped at his beer again. Magnus was about halfway down his glass, but Alec had barely taken the top off his. 

“You know, I was fuming this morning at the sod who nicked my phone.” Magnus pulled a shiny tube from his pocket, unscrewed the lid. “I might need to send them a gift basket now.” 

“Someone nicked your phone?” 

“Mine went missing yesterday,” he explained, pausing to dab at his lips with the gloss. They looked even pinker now than they had to start with. “I picked one up on the way home. Can’t afford to be unavailable for too long.” 

He tore his gaze back up to Magnus’ eyes. “You didn’t think that was odd?” 

“Not at the time...” He cleared his throat. “But now that you mention it.” 

Alec didn’t believe in coincidences. He doubted Magnus did either, it just wasn’t always easy to see things that you were so close to. Hindsight really was 20/20. 

“You think she...?” 

“I don’t know the woman, but from what you’ve said, it wouldn’t surprise me.” 

“Even better. If I can prove she stole my phone, that means not only will I not have to work with her, but I might even get to see her in jail.” 

“She’s really that bad?” 

“She’s really that bad.” A sigh, then a small smile. “At least I don’t feel bad now.” 

“About...?” 

He snorted. “Giving the associates a tip off that Camille will be gone in less than a week. And then placing a bet on it.” 

“You...” Alec gave a quick bark of laughter. “Seriously?” 

A small grin flashed across Magnus’ face. “Seriously.”


	6. Meet the Parent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW // mentions of somebody causing harm to themselves in the first paragraph. it has no bearing on plot so please do skip if you don't want to read that.
> 
> I've finished editing the second half of this over the weekend so I figured I'd just post it today cos why not, so chapters incoming. I hope it's a satisfying end and that you all enjoy the conclusion of our boys x

There was a small crack on the windshield, just level with the head rest. A young woman had run into the oncoming traffic, screeching at the top of her lungs that her boyfriend would have to listen to her now, he'd have to pay attention while she stared down the double decker screaming right towards her. The driver had swerved in time, but it had cost him two passengers and the ability to sleep soundly for quite some time. The bright red Citroen behind had slammed on the breaks, causing a long line of vehicles all piled into one another like pieces of crumpled up wrapping paper. Three of the injured had been taken to hospital; many more were still being patched together by EMT’s. 

Alec Lightwood stood on the sidelines, watching as the steady flow of disgruntled New Yorkers paced the hard shoulder, twiddling their thumbs until an officer became available to take their insurance, statements, and no doubt an earful of complaints about the shambles of a force that their hard-earned tax dollars were funding. New Yorkers doing the thing they hated most – waiting in line. Alec shuddered at the knowledge that he was accustomed enough to this level of destruction that his biggest concern at present was his dire need to find a bathroom. He hated earlies. Had downed far too much coffee in the breakroom before heading out here in an attempt to ease his misery. It would’ve been the traffic cop’s jurisdiction, had one of the brighter lot not matched the description of an individual wanted for questioning to a man on the side of this road, smoking an E-Cig next to a battered Volkswagen. 

Big, beanie man had given his name to one of the traffic cops. Dominic Wilks. Alec had expected him to be a little more unsettled, possibly try to drive his smashed-up caddy from the scene without sorting his statement or insurance, but he’d appeared entirely unperturbed by the police presence. He'd waited quietly for his turn, handed over his license without batting an eyelid and given his statement without a peep. It was enough for Alec to be relatively certain that he’d handed over fake documentation, but it wouldn’t matter much. Not when they got him to the station for fingerprinting. 

Wilks’ unbothered attitude met its expiry date when Alec approached, clearly recognising the man he’d smacked round the head not twenty-four hours ago. It took three large, trained professionals to restrain him, pinning flailing limbs to the ground as he swore, spat, screeched and squealed. 

When it was over, Lopez sidled up with two bags of Greggs and held one out to Alec. He shook his head. “Veggie, thanks though.” Then frowned. “When did you get that?” 

“Went while they were restraining him.” Lopez shrugged. “Figured they’d be a while. What now then, boss?” 

“You went to Greggs while they were restraining our suspect? Didn’t offer to help?” 

“They had it under control.” 

He looked around. There was Woody, Stevens, and Harris, all with a mouthful of pastry. Another bunch clustered behind the wreckage of a van, shielding from the smattering of rain that was starting to drizzle down. “You took orders?” 

“Yup. Figured you’d tell me not to go if I asked you though, so just had to guess.” 

Part of Alec wanted to congratulate him on the morale-building, while the other half wanted to smack him round the back of the head for abandoning an active scene to go on a grease-fetching mission. In the end, he settled for a sharp look and a, ‘Run it by me next time.’ 

He wasn’t all that bothered, but somebody had to reprimand that sort of behaviour. If detectives ignored it, by the time these rabble were wearing Alec’s shoes, who knew what sort of antics would be getting the green light from those below them. It was just how it worked, chain of command and all that. Besides, Alec wasn’t opposed to being the bad cop, as Lopez would have put it. The role suited him much better than the pally pally carrot method pulled off by mostly everyone else on the force. He could swing it, at a push, but it certainly didn’t come as naturally to him as a good old-fashioned stick. 

“Yes sir.” Lopez grinned, scrunching up the empty packet and reaching for the second. He held it out. “Sure I can’t change your mind?” 

Alec wrinkled his nose. “Couldn’t pay me.” 

Lopez tore off a chunk. “Shuit yourshelf.” Chomp. Chomp. Chomp. “Sho, what now?” 

A tap on the shoulder. “He’s in the van, sarge. You wanna speak to him?” 

“You read him his rights?” 

Lewis shook her head. “Didn’t know if you were arresting him.” 

“Show me.” 

Streaks of red lined the tarmac, like rashers past their sell by date, where Dominic Wilks had attempted to remove his own shoulders from their sockets. Wilks himself was unharmed, the blood belonging to officer Jenkins who’d taken a blow to the nose not too dissimilar to Alec’s. That in itself was enough to charge the man with, but Alec wanted more. He needed to understand why this man had attempted to burn an empty house down to the ground. Why he’d set fire to the car that had swept its inferno onto little Thomas Ilkley. 

He wrenched open the doors to the cage and took in the sight before him. The man was motionless, hands cuffed behind his back as he stared, spit mask secured over his face. He was a different man to the rabid animal giving grown men sick notes not five minutes earlier. 

“Dominic Wilks.” 

Silence. 

“Remember me?” 

Nothing. 

Alec read him his rights. Flashes of Thomas Ilkley's toothless grin swam behind his eyelids. Dominic Wilks was going to prison. For a very long time, if Alec had anything to do about it. 

___ 

“Day drinking now are you?” 

Alec stared a moment, then remembered the bottle of Tennessee in his hands. “It’s not for me.” He stepped back from the door, motioning for Magnus to follow. The man was dressed to the nines, as always. His hair was spiked into an almost mohawk – yet still looked unimaginably soft – and his eyes were lined with a smudge of brown that would have had Alec looking like an insomniac zombie, yet somehow worked wonders for the other man. 

Magnus stepped over the threshold, pausing on the welcome mat. “Who’s it for?” 

“Whoever tells me why Dominic Wilks decided to set fire to number 46 Lincoln Green.” He started to back into the hallway but paused at the other man’s hesitance. At Alec’s look, Magnus glanced down to his shoes, revealing a layer of shiny silver coating his eyelids, and hovered one jeweled black boot in the air. Alec waved him off. “You’re fine. Floor’s wood.” As if Magnus hadn’t been able to see that. He cleared his throat and turned his back. Don’t blush. 

“You’re bribing them with alcohol now, sergeant?” 

The footsteps followed him into the kitchen. “I’d bribe them with sex if I thought it’d work.” 

Magnus waggled a finger at him. “Hey, don’t assume. I’m sure it’d work on plenty of them.” 

“Well, I’m not guessing with this one.” He dumped the bottle on the kitchen counter. “I know for a fact, that lot will do anything for a free drink.” Coat. Where was his coat? 

“How much did this cost you?” 

Under the stairs? “Ten dollars.” 

“ _What?_ ” 

Empty, save for a bunch of shopping bags and a pair of mud-crusted wellies. “What? It’s worth it if it’ll–” 

“You can’t buy whiskey for ten dollars!” Magnus grimaced at the object in his hands as though Alec had just thrust a bomb his way and told him to play hot potato. 

He’d had it last night, come home from work, dumped it– Ah! On the back of his desk chair in the living room. “Well, it was buy one get one half price. So I got the other one for Jace.” 

Magnus called out after him. “So it was actually twenty dollars?” 

There it was. Alec retrieved the coat and slung it over his shoulders as he reentered the kitchen. “Sure.” 

“Sure...” His mouth fell ajar, like someone had shoved a tightly coiled spring in between his lips. “ _Five_ dollars?” 

A shrug. “They’d drink cat piss if they thought it’d get them drunk.” 

“Five dollars...” 

“Pretty sure I saw Bernard swigging from the same liquid he was using to disinfect a cut on my leg once.” 

Magnus’ eyes flitted down to the label, shiny silver on full display. “750ml. That’s a dollar every... 150ml.” 

“I’ve definitely seen him swallow mouthwash before.” He hummed. “Though, I can’t say for sure that it was for the alcohol content. Could have just been cleaning out his insides.” Alec slipped past Magnus into the hallway. “You coming?” 

“Thirty-three cents a shot...” 

Alec snorted. “You know your measurements, don’t you?” 

Magnus looked up then, the silver shine disappearing as his dark, brown eyes latched onto Alec’s. Like the softest fur of a grizzly. 

“You look good, you know.” 

Magnus blinked, once, twice, three times. 

“Just, I didn’t say that yet, but you do. That’s all.” 

A smile. “Thank you, Alexander. You look quite lovely yourself.” 

Dark jeans. Dark shirt. Dark shoes. “Thanks.” He turned and made for the door. “Did you have anywhere in mind?” 

___ 

It was only early, not even 4pm yet, so their options were slightly limited unless they wanted tea or coffee. And Alec could hazard a guess that Magnus wanted neither of those things. They ended up heading to the same bar as the previous night, with Magnus leading the way. He hadn’t struck Alec as a creature of habit, but perhaps he’d been wrong about the man. It wouldn’t be the first time Magnus had defied Alec’s expectations. 

“Pool?” He glanced at the older man. “Or do you fancy a nice night instead?” 

Magnus snorted. “I’m sure we could have a nice night while–” He sighed. “Okay, no pool.” 

It was an odd mix of atmospheres, and Alec couldn’t quite tell if he was in a bar, a pub, a restaurant or a nightclub. The highly flammable floors, benches and beams were that of an old folk's country pub, where they glared at strangers and told each other the same stories a couple times per night. Further in was a section designated for those choosing to eat out, with the swanky tables and pretentious art prints belonging to an entirely different world. The music was that of an understated bar, but the dim lighting was more suited to a nightclub that couldn’t afford for the patrons realise they were sticking to the floors for a reason. 

A voice behind him. “Evening, gentlemen.” 

His shoulders came up, fists clenched, stomach dropped. 

“Ragnor? What the hell are you doing here?” 

And exhale. 

“Same as you I imagine, having a drink. Without the boy toy.” 

Alec gritted his teeth. Counted to ten. Made it to five. 

“What are you...” Magnus gripped his friends elbow and steered him away. Hissed something in his ear. Alec stepped forward and leaned against the bar. He wasn’t going to listen in. The chattering of people queuing ahead of him muffled most of their conversation anyway. 

“...you’re the only one who’s allowed...” 

Damn it. Focus on something else. Should he stick with beer or go for something a little more adventurous? 

“...the only reason you’re here...” 

He wouldn’t want Magnus to think he was boring. Sticking to the same drink every time, pulling his nose up at the slightest hint of change. 

“...friend, I could be on a date, my life doesn’t revolve around you...” 

But he really did hate most drinks. Even beer wasn’t the nicest, but he knew where he stood with a pint. Once they started throwing in all those spirits that looked like juice but would have you on the floor in minutes, that’s where he drew the line. 

“...you know I’d be...” 

He couldn’t eavesdrop. He couldn’t. 

“...absolutely no idea that...” 

Maybe Guinness instead? It was a stout, not beer, and it was Irish. Maybe Magnus would think he was cultured? 

“...stalking me? Have you tracked my phone...” 

On the other hand, they were charging an extra 50 cents for Guinness. It wasn’t that Alec was cheap, but he didn’t particularly see the point in paying extra for something that he didn’t really want in the first place. 

“...simply came out for a quiet drink, though I can see that that’s not going to be...” 

He sighed. Turned around. Forced a smile. “Magnus, is your friend joining us?” 

Magnus’ eyes jolted apart like he’d been zapped with 120 volts. 

“Well, if you’re offering.” Ragnor smirked at Magnus. “Mine’s a Guinness.” 

Course it was. 

___ 

“So, you click your fingers and he jumps, is that it?” 

Magnus had left for the bathroom approximately thirty-seven seconds ago, and Ragnor hadn’t wasted a single one of them. 

“Why would you think that?” 

Ragnor hummed, sarcastic and flat. “Let's see. The three cancelled dates. Being late to a meeting because he was on the phone to _you._ Leaving work early today to come and meet, oh, yes, you again. To name a few.” 

A shattering sounded behind him. Alec jerked in his seat, twisting to the source of the noise. He settled at the spiderweb of glass shards cascading around the blushing waiter. Until the man dived to the ground and began grabbing at the pieces with his bare hands. Alec stood, carefully dodging the hazard-filled tiles. “Don’t. It’ll be sharper than it looks.” 

The man’s stammering only increased. “I’m so, so sorry, don’t worry, I’ll–” He picked up another piece and watched as a scarlet line began to slice its way through his hand. “Oh.” 

“Here.” Alec unfolded his swan napkin and rolled it into a makeshift bandage, motioning for the waiter to stand. “It won’t be deep, don’t worry.” The swan began to bleed as it was wrapped around the trembling man’s hand. “Hold that tight till you can get it under water.” 

A garbled thank you later and Alec was back in his seat, watching as the shaking waiter’s colleague stomped up to clean the mess. 

Ragnor scoffed. “Not gonna arrest him then?” 

“Arrest him? For what?” 

A shrug. “Who knows. Whatever you felt like. Drunk and disorderly. Noise pollution. Attempted assault. Pick your favourite.” 

Oh. “You don’t like cops. Makes sense.” 

His eyes rolled to the ceiling. “Love them.” A smile. “Oh look, lover boy's coming.” 

Alec glanced up, leaning closer to Ragnor. “To answer your questions, I apologised for cancelling those dates, and I wasn’t aware that Magnus had missed any meetings, or left work early today.” He lowered his voice. “I finished early and thought he might like to get a drink, I didn’t mean to disrupt his work.” He sat back just as Magnus arrived. 

“What did I miss?” 

“Just Alec flirting with the waiter.” 

“Wha–” 

“Oh, ignore him, Alexander.” Magnus turned to his friend. “If you’re not going to play nice, you can leave now.” 

“You’re worried I’ll scare your copper away?” 

Alec bit down on the inside of his lip. “Don’t worry, I don’t think you’re scary.” 

“You don’t?” 

“No. I imagine you must be different at work though.” 

“I never adapt my personality.” Ragnor gave a long-suffering sigh. “Why, what lies has this one been spreading to you?” 

Alec glanced at Magnus, who shrugged his permission. “You threatened to set somebody’s car on fire.” 

Ragnor didn’t flinch. “No I didn’t.” 

“What did you threaten then?” 

“To slash his tyres.” 

His eyes widened, but Ragnor wasn’t finished. 

“And pour lighter fluid all over it.” 

Oh God. 

___ 

It was closing time before Ragnor's glacial demeanor began to thaw. It was slow going, but progress was progress. “Right, that’s enough parenting for one day.” He pushed back from the bench. 

Magnus scoffed, turning his back even more squarely to his friend. He’d been twisting further and further around as the hours went on, seemingly attempting to obscure Ragnor from even his most peripheral vision. 

“I’ll see you children later.” Ragnor chucked down a handful of notes. “Well, I’ll see one child later. The other, we’ll have to see won’t we...” He spun around, stalked a few steps, then called back over his shoulder. “Remember to use protection.” 

Alec snorted, but straightened his face at Magnus’ glare. 

“That man is insufferable. Who does he think he is?” 

Panic flitted in his stomach at the thought that Ragnor was going to turn around and head right back their way to dish out a cutting response, but if the older man had heard Magnus’ jibes, he didn’t let on. 

“He seems nice.” 

“Seems–” Magnus straightened up. _"Seems nice?"_

“Wanna get out of here?” 

“He’s a raving lunatic, is what he is.” 

“I reckon they’ll be closing soon. We can head back to mine if you want. Or yours, they’re both pretty similar distance.” 

“A raving lunatic masquerading as my best friend.” 

“Or we can just call it a night, if you needed to be up early tomorrow?” 

Magnus stopped, swigged the remanence of his cosmopolitan and stood. Swayed, steadied himself, and held out his hand for Alec. Now that he thought about it, the floor was a little malleable. He’d only had four, maybe five. Not too many, and he’d eaten properly before coming out today, unwilling to suffer through a repeat of last time. A few pints of water, paracetamol, and a slice of toast, and he’d be right as rain. As long as he could keep his feet beneath him long enough to get there. 

“Are you working tomorrow?” 

They made their way to the entrance, tipping generously on their way out. “I’m not on the rota, so I can go in whenever. Around twelve probably.” 

Magnus grinned. “What a coincidence.” 

The slap of cold air was a refreshing change to the stifling heat inside. “You’re in late tomorrow?” 

“Nope, but I’m not on a rota, so I can go in whenever.” 

Alec giggled. “You’ll get me in trouble with Ragnor if you do that.” 

He wouldn’t call it staggering, but he wouldn’t quite call it walking either. Blundering, maybe. Under the streetlamps, through the traffic, all the way to Magnus’ city centre loft. It took longer than it should have done, but it was also far more enjoyable than it should have been. With a few minutes left to the journey, a man crossed the road ahead of them, dashing out into the oncoming traffic. Yelling at the top of his lungs. 

“...TIME STOOD STILL...” 

His friends had made it to the island in the middle of the road before him, either less intoxicated or just less intent on screaming the lyrics to Bring Me The Horizon at the top of their lungs. 

“...THE WAY IT DID BEFORE...” 

He joined his friends on the crossing, tumbling into the arms of a woman intent on scolding him. Her hands shoved over his mouth, he almost upended them both to free his voice box from its confines. 

“...IT’S LIKE I’M SLEEPWALKING...” 

The woman finally succeeded in muzzling him. Suitably chastised, he was dragged away to follow the rest of the group onto a club or three. “Someone’s having a good night.” 

"Little tame for my tastes.” 

Alec snorted. “Sure.” 

The walk seemed to do the trick in sobering him. He didn’t doubt that he was certainly a lot braver now than he had been a few hours ago, but he was also a lot steadier now than he had been a few minutes ago. They paused outside Magnus’ building, where the other man turned to face him. “Well, thank you for walking me home.” A smile spread itself across his face. “Nightcap?” 

___ 

What was he doing? Why was he doing this? Was he really about to do this? Magnus slipped his hand a little further up Alec’s shirt. The door handle squished further into his side. No, he had to do this. Voice low and soft, he croaked out a reluctant, “Wait.” 

Magnus stepped back; lips slightly ajar as he caught his breath. The lip gloss had mostly rubbed away, probably onto Alec’s own face and neck, but Magnus still looked prettier than ever. Did he really have to do this? 

He sighed and pushed away from the door, edging into Magnus’ flat and keeping some small amount of distance between them. “Sorry. Just...” An aborted gesture with his hands. 

“You have nothing to apologise for, Alexander.” Magnus stepped back once more, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. It didn’t do much to permeate the silence. 

“I don’t, um... I don’t want you to think... uh–” 

Magnus held out a hand. “I would happily spend the night with you Alexander, but I would just as happily say goodnight, and thank you for a wonderful evening.” His hand came up to pull at the snake cuffed around his ear. “Truly, my intentions for tonight weren’t–” 

“No, no, I know. We both just got a bit carried away.” Alec let out a weak excuse for a laugh. “It’s not that I don’t want to... I just...” 

“You’re forgetting, this is only our third date. Or fourth? Not sure.” He dismissed the thought with a wave. “Either way, we haven’t known each other all that long, Alexander. We have all the time in the world. If you’re even slightly unsure, it’s worth waiting.” 

He looked away, blushed. “Thanks.” Swallowed, forced his gaze upwards. “Maybe next time?” 

Magnus winked. “I certainly won’t be complaining.” 

“How about, um...” He cleared his throat. Shouldn’t have had beer number four. Or had it been five? “I don’t have to leave. I mean, I can if you’d rather just get some sleep, but if you wanted, I could... we could just, you know, talk and stuff?” 

Magnus beamed. “Of course, Alexander!” He sprang into action, making his way to the drinks cart that Alec was starting to think he prized almost as much as Chairman Meow. “Drink?” 

Oh God. “Thanks.”


	7. A Paisley Ascot?

A red-hot blade pierced its way along Alec’s spine. Where...? 

“Alexander! You’re awake!” 

Curtain rings swooshing. Coffee aroma drifting. Cat paws prodding. 

“Magnus.” His voice creaked after a night of disuse. Tried again. “Morning.” Moderately better. 

“Good morning. Sleep okay?” 

“Mhmmph.” He pushed himself upright. “Time is it?” 

“Just gone eight.” 

He must have fallen asleep on the couch. 

“You lasted till around two.” Magnus plopped himself down on the couch besides him and ruffled what was sure to be some pretty drastic bed hair. “I spent a few minutes listening to your adorable little snores, then left you and Chairman to it.” 

“Chairman?” 

Magnus pouted. “He didn’t want anything to do with me with you here. Tried to get him to come to bed, wouldn’t listen. Tried to give him his breakfast this morning, and can you guess?” 

“He wouldn’t listen?” 

“Got it in one!” He gestured at Chairman where he’d tangled himself around Alec’s ankles. “I genuinely think the spoilt brat is waiting for you to feed him.” 

Alec huffed a tired laugh. “I can feed him.” He rubbed at his eyes. Coffee. Needed coffee. “I hope you don’t mind–” 

“If you apologise one more time...” He waggled a finger in Alec’s face. 

“I haven’t apologised for this one yet.” 

Magnus dropped the hand. “Okay, go ahead. But if it’s something that doesn’t require an apology, like falling asleep on my couch for instance...” 

Was he really that transparent? “How about breakfast? Are you in a rush, or–” 

“Nope. Not at all.” 

___ 

11:38am. Alec wasn’t late, but he was rushing nonetheless. Cramming a banana and half a granola bar in as he marched. He wasn’t a fan of being on time, much preferring to be early, very early, or the first person there. It was true what he’d said to Magnus about not being on the rota today, but he couldn’t actually recall being this busy in a long, long time, so to take a day off just because he wasn’t on the rota, would be somewhat self-sabotaging in Alec’s opinion. 

He didn’t mind the grind, the waking up at five every morning and dragging himself into a job that he honestly, in his heart of hearts, wasn’t sure was worth the bother. What was the point in locking up the criminals, when by the time you’ve gotten around to doing it, they’ve already bred a litter of replicas even worse than themselves? 

Up the stone steps, through the double doors that could do with a lick of paint, flash his ID card to Barry on reception, and down the corridor– 

“Lightwood! Get back here!” 

He closed his eyes, squeezed them tighter than usual, and counted to ten. Made it to a whole two before Barry was yelling again. 

“Oi!” 

Turn around. Stomp back the way he came. Stare expectantly. 

“Got a message for you. Would be great if you’d turn your phone on once in a while.” 

“I’m not even on shift today Barry.” 

He started shifting around the contents of his desk, pausing to peer into a packet of crisps and giving a pleased little whoop when he found it to still contain a handful of Walkers’ finest. “You lot are all the same. Thinking I’m your sodding PA just cos I answer the sodding phone.” Tip his head back. Pour. Pour. Pour. 

“My phone was off because I wasn’t supposed to be at work this morning.” 

Chomp. Crunch. Chomp. “And does anyone thank me? No. You’ll just roll your eyes and storm away like _I’m_ the one needs an attitude transplant.” 

“I’m not even supposed to be here _now._ ” 

Barry grumbled, still rooting around on his desk for the elusive post it note. “...all the bloody same.” A packet of crackers, squeezed open and pilfered. Two empty coke cans that he chucked into the bin – missed one, scored the other – and a banana that Alec swore would melt into a pile of brown and sludge if anybody were to even look at it for too long. “Ever heard of don’t shoot the messenger?” 

“Look, I’ll just come back later, okay? My phone’s on now so you can just–” 

“Aha! Gotcha, ya little bastard.” He waved a yellow sticky in front of Alec’s face, then chucked it down and heaved himself from the swivel chair. 

“What’re you...” Alec closed his eyes and clenched his teeth together as Barry lumbered across to the bin, picked his poorly aimed coke can off the floor, and dropped it into wastepaper along with the other. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. “Great. Thanks for taking the message Barry.” 

Pleased, the little man turned around and smiled. “There we are, some manners. Why can’t the rest of you prats learn a couple?” 

Another smile, tighter this time. “The message, Barry?” 

“Oh, yeah.” He flopped back down into his chair and cracked another diet coke. Must have a fridge hidden underneath there somewhere. “Custody sergeant was looking for you. Says the big fucker you arrested yesterday will talk to you, but only you.” 

That was it? The sole reason Alec had come in today was to interview Wilks. It was his case, his arrest, he’d be dammed if he was letting anyone else get anywhere near the bastard. He'd left strict instructions yesterday that the big man was to sit in his cell overnight and sweat, then Alec would deal with him in the morning. Wilks’ preferences as to who would interview him could not have been more irrelevant to Alec. He was going to get what he was given, and say thank you when it was done. 

But he didn’t say that. Instead, Alec smiled, thanked Barry, and went on his way. If the little man thought he’d seen a Lightwood without manners, he was sorely mistaken, but Alec could think of at least one man who was certainly about to get a look behind that particular curtain. 

___ 

Alec had barely turned the corner and set his sights on the desk he spent far too many hours of his life hunched over, when the demands started pouring in. This time it was Larrimore. “Have you got his statement?” 

Shit. “I can bring it through to you?” 

“Fine, quickly though.” 

A nod. He waited for the man to turn his back then ripped open his bottom drawer. It was definitely here somewhere. He was usually so organised. Shouldn’t have let himself get so disorderly. He was starting to become as bad as Jace. Though, his brother had been even more scatty than normal lately, his behaviour bordering more on lunacy than just his usual standard of odd. 

“You’ve not got it, have you?” 

Alec jolted. Who– oh. Maia. He cleared his throat. “Roberts. What can I help you with?” 

She shrugged, shoving some papers out of the way to seat herself on his desk. “Looks like you’re the one needing help, Lightwood.” 

“No, no, all good.” It must be on here somewhere. He’d had it yesterday, where could it have... 

“Just came to say hello. Not seen you down Lions in a while.” Maia nudged his shoulder. “You still owe me that drink.” 

Three copies of two different safeguarding forms. Photocopier must have been taking the piss. An old arrest warrant – wow, 2017? He really needed to have a good clean of this place sometime. Approved request for documentation on Valentine Morgenstern dating back almost as long as Alec had been alive. A pile of arrest statements waiting to be typed up, probably enough to get him sacked if anybody looked too closely. 

Approved request for... Alec picked that last set of papers up again. “Valentine Morgenstern... Idris incorporated... request approved... the fuck is thi–” 

“Lightwood! You ready? I wanna go make this kiddy killer shit his pants.” Lopez nodded at Maia. “Roberts.” 

She grinned. “Still making this place look untidy, are you?” 

“These are the papers you gave me a few days ago?” Alec held them out, interrupting what no doubt would have been a cutting response from Lopez. 

The man stopped bouncing on the balls of his feet for long enough to cast a glance over them. “Yeah, sorry it took a while, like I said, the judge–” 

“I didn’t ask you for these.” 

Lopez stilled. “You did.” 

“When?” 

He pulled his phone from his pocket and started scrolling. “You emailed me. A few weeks ago now, I think. I can find it if you like?” 

A nod. “Unless I’ve been sending emails in my sleep, I didn’t ask for these.” 

Maia craned her neck to peek at the papers. “Don’t blame you. Guy’s a right Teflon case. Clearly dodgy as shit, but nothing’s ever stuck. Not even so much as a parking ticket in his life.” She snorted. “Pathetic.” 

“Aha! Here we go.” Lopez handed the phone over to Alec. “Unless I’m even more in need of early retirement than I thought...” 

It was his email address, his signature at the bottom, but not his words. “I didn’t send this.” There weren’t many people who had access to his account, or who’d be able to guess his password. Two, definitely. Three, at a push. He handed the phone back. “Come on, let's go make Wilks blub.” 

“What do you mean? You didn’t send it?” 

He called out to Maia as he backed away. Larrimore’s statement still locked somewhere in his desk drawers. It wasn’t like he wasn’t already on the man’s shit list. May as well stay there a little longer. “I’ll buy you a drink this weekend. Saturday, after work?” 

“You’ll buy me several!” 

Lopez was still staring at the phone in his hands. “Oi! Wait!” 

Alec turned and kept walking, making the man’s much shorter legs scurry after him. 

“What do you–” 

“Good news. I need you to be good cop.” 

Lopez grinned, email forgotten. “And you’re gonna be bad cop?” 

A smile. “Well, who else?” 

___ 

“I’ve been here twenty-four hours! More than that, probably. That can’t be legal. You can’t leave me for that long. I haven’t even eaten!” 

Alec smirked. “They didn’t offer you food?” 

The big man thrust his hands into the air. “Course they did, but it was slop! Looked like someone had thrown up on a plastic tray and shoved it under the door!” 

He feigned a frown. “Oh no, that’s worrying.” 

“What? What's worrying?” 

A shrug. “Just, the fact that you don’t like prison food. Seems like you’re not going to have the easiest adjustment period.” 

The man besides Wilks stuttered something indignant. “I take issue with that statement, Mr. Lightwood.” Paisley ascot tight around his neck and tweed jacket patched at the elbows, he looked like something out of a textbook trying to depict life in 20th Century Britain. “You cannot interview my client after he hasn’t eaten for twenty-four hours.” 

Ascot stared across the table in challenge, as if expecting them to curtsey and run along to find a five-star restaurant where their criminal could dine. Alec sat up straighter in his chair. “Of course. I can arrange for some lunch to be sorted before we interview your client.” He leaned across the table, waiting for Wilks to catch his eye before speaking. “In connection with the murder of Thomas Ilkley. Would you like that, Dominic?” 

The big man just shook his head, looking as if he’d rather stick his thumb in his mouth than anything else. 

“Okay.” Alec clapped his hands. “Let’s get to it then, shall we, Dom? Can I call you Dom?” 

Wilks pouted, like a child refusing to eat his vegetables. “My name’s Dominic.” 

“Great, thanks Dom. So...” 

___ 

“I’ve already told you, I wasn’t there. It wasn’t me. This is false imprisonment, I’ll sue you!” 

Alec glanced at the Ascot next to him. “Well, good thing you’ve got your lawyer here with you then, isn’t it? I’m sure he can get that process started once we’re finished here.” It hadn’t even been a quarter of an hour, and the Ascot was starting to look very uncomfortable. His next play was to get the custody sergeant to switch the heating on full blast. A little juvenile, maybe, but it was all fair game when dealing with a child killer and his attorney. He turned back to Wilks. “Why did you do it, Dom?” 

Ascot placed a hand on the big man’s arm. “You don’t have to answer that, Dominic.” Then to Alec. “You have no evidence–” 

“I have two witnesses, security footage on its way, and the fact that I saw him.” He motioned to the now purpling black eyes he sported. “Thanks for these, by the way. Assaulting a police officer, really smart move on your part.” 

“No, I didn’t do that! You already had a black eye!” 

Alec grinned. Surely it hadn’t been that easy. “I already had a black eye?” 

Ascot was beginning to twitch. The hand on Wilks’ arm tightened to a stern grip. “Do not answer that, Dominic. He’s trying to trick you. What Dominic meant was–” 

“I already had a black eye, when? When did I already have a black eye Dom?” 

“He meant that you’re making it up about him hitting you, not – 

“You’re right, I did already have the black eyes, but you wouldn’t know that if you hadn’t seen me that day, would you?” 

“He wasn’t being literal!” 

“Well, he has _literally_ just confessed to assaulting a police officer, haven’t you, Dom?” 

Wilks pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and sucked. Shook his head. 

“Maybe we could get that one down to a warning, hey boss?” Lopez piped up. “You can be kind of a scary dude. I wouldn’t exactly want to run into you down a dark alley.” Wilks’ sucking got harder, his bottom lip now entirely invisible. “You could just put it down as self-defense, that he didn’t really mean to hit you, you know?” 

Alec shrugged. “Like you say, I already had the black eyes. Hazard of the job.” 

“Exactly.” Lopez banged his hand on the table. Wilks pulled a face as though he’d just done something nasty in his trousers, but the Lopez charged on. “Wouldn’t even need to charge you with assaulting a police officer, cos what’s that like, boss? Minimum of two years, up to life?” 

Wilks’ jaw sprang apart. 

“Now, now, don’t let them intimidate you–” 

“But like you say, we could just put that down as a warning. So long as we had a reason to...” He frowned in thought. “Complete honesty and cooperation with our investigation should suffice.” A smirk. “A little remorse wouldn’t go amiss.” 

Ascot sneered at them. “This isn’t going to work. My client is innocent.” 

“Let’s see about that.” 

It took three hours, but they managed to get a name. Not a full name, and it had only been accidental. Slipped out of Wilks' mouth when he clearly hadn’t meant it to. Not enough for a conviction, and certainly not enough to classify as cooperating with the police, but it was a name nonetheless. A starting point. Now all he had to do was find Jonathon. One Jonathon in a sea of 521,358 Jonathons in the United States. He’d looked it up. Statistically, it was the 119th most popular name in America, and all Alec had to do was find the one in half a million. Should be easy enough.


	8. In Hindsight...

"Care to tell me why you’ve been hacking my account and sending emails on my behalf?” 

“Afternoon, Lightwood.” Jace leapt to his feet. “I’m just heading out to–” 

“Don’t _Lightwood_ me, Wayland.” Alec shoved at his shoulder, plonking him right back down into his seat. “What the hell?” 

A groan. “Because it’s not my remit,” he whined. “It would’ve looked suspicious if I’d done it.” 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” 

Wide eyes, lips pouted, Jace was doing his best impression of a kicked kitten. “I didn’t want to drag you into it.” 

Alec rolled his eyes. His brother was a real, true pain in the ass. But a well-meaning one, too. He sunk down into the chair beside Jace. He was pretty sure this was Raj’s desk, but that joker had been off on the sick for about three months, so it hadn’t seen much use in some time. “Drag me into what?” he demanded. “Stop with the bullshit, Jace. Just tell me what’s going on.” 

“Alright, but–” 

“No buts.” 

Jace glared. “I was _going_ to say, no interrupting me.” 

“No you weren’t.” 

A pause. “No, I wasn’t, but I'm saying it now. Don’t interrupt me.” His copycat of Alec’s bad cop was in full swing. Stern look. Raised chin. Jace could be intimidating when he wanted to be, but not to the person who’d spent a large percentage of his life tucking the other boy back into bed after a nightmare. Comforting him after a particularly shitty day. Letting him strop and shout and rage and cry just so he could let it all out and feel better afterwards. Not much was intimidating after that. “What I was going to say was, I still might not be able to answer all of your questions. A lot of this is Clary’s business, not mine." 

Alec brows drew together into one angry line. “Clary? What the hell are you talking about?” 

“I was looking into her dad for her, okay? I know it’s wrong, misusing resources, abusing my position, I know, alright?” Back ramrod straight, shoulders hunched up to his ears, hands clasped tightly into one big fist in front of him. “You don’t have to tell me.” 

The desktop behind Jace pinged. A notification. 

“I didn’t say anything.” He probably would have done, had Jace not said it first, but the other man seemed so convinced that he was about to get a rollicking from his brother, that Alec couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. “You were looking into her dad. Why? Is he in trouble?” 

His question didn’t have the impact he’d envisioned. Instead of letting out the breath he was so clearly holding, Jace pulled in a short, harsh pull of air and remained perfectly still. 

Alec frowned. “You don’t have to tell me anything Clary wouldn’t want me to know.” 

He waited. Looked away, swiveled on Raj’s chair, picked at his nails, tapped his fingers on the desk. He tried not to exude stress, but Alec wasn’t a man who enjoyed sitting still. If Jace needed a minute to gather his thoughts, Alec could give that to him, but he couldn’t promise to do it particularly well. 

In the end, it only took around thirty seconds for Jace to deflate. “He’s not in trouble. He is trouble.” 

___ 

Magnus stamped on his acceleration and checked the wing mirror. He'd always hated this section of the freeway. The ramp was just that little bit too short, and the road just that little bit too curved. It made it all too easy for plebs like the ones ahead of him to make his life a misery by refusing to budge over. Or slow down. Or speed up. Instead, they just cruised at exactly the speed that they felt like, parallel to Magnus’ car with their huge small-dick trucks, while the ramp was quickly eaten up right before his eyes. In the end, he managed to intimidate a Ford Focus into falling back enough that he could finally pull into the swarm of traffic. 

New Yorkers. Absolutely atrocious drivers, the lot of them. He wished the road rage would distract him from what was about to be done, but he doubted anything in the realm of reality could accomplish that feat. 

“Woah...” Magnus swore as a Daniel Craig wannabe in his mould-coloured Aston Martin sped dangerously close to his lane. “Bastard thinks it’s formula one.” 

Pulling into the inside lane would lessen the chances of more moronic close calls, but also ran the risk of making Magnus late, and he couldn’t take that chance. Not again. Ragnor had set up a meeting between Magnus and Elizabeth Hall, citing important information that only he could relay. It didn’t need to be a huge deal. Either Elizabeth believed him, or she didn’t. Either Camille was sent packing, or Magnus was left packing up his desk at the only job he’d ever truly excelled at. Not a big deal. 

His handsfree set started to chirp. The automated voice informed him that the call was none other than Ragnor Fell. Best friend. Raving lunatic. Arrogant bastard. He ignored it. After the shit he pulled last night, he was lucky Magnus hadn’t erased his contact entirely. 

Fluttering nerves began to pulsate with increased vigor as he neared the exit ramp. It had to be done. There was no other choice. The worst that could happen was that he lost the job that he loved, the friendship of people he respected, and a place he’d called home for the better part of a decade. Absolutely no pressure at all. He sighed. At least he was having a good hair day. 

___ 

“You’re telling me that Clary’s father is the one I read about in that file? The one with all the dodgy businesses, threats, extortion–” 

“Yes. That’s him.” 

“And he tried to buy her mom’s place a few months ago, she told him to sling his hook and he’s been threatening her ever since?” 

“Yes. Well, not threats exactly. Nothing we can prove. Sending anonymous letter – no fingerprints, I checked – then calling up and not saying anything, you know, just breathing down the phone and shit?” Jace wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Creepy bastard.” 

“And you said it wasn’t actually him who came to make the offer?” 

“No, it was Jonathon, his son from another marriage. I think he was banking on Jocelyn not knowing who the kid was, but come on... it’s like Thing One and Thing Two.” 

“Right, and what about Jonathon? Any hits?” 

Jace shook his head. “I’ve checked him out. Spotless.” A snort. “Same as daddy.” 

Another ping on the computer. Alec glanced up. “You need to get that?” 

“It’ll just be Frog-Face.” 

“You mean your boss?” 

A shrug. “If he needs me, he’ll call me.” 

It was like nails down a chalkboard to Alec, but at the end of the day, if Jace wanted to blatantly ignore multiple messages from the person who had the power to make his life a living hell, that was his mistake to make. 

“Right, go on then,” he prompted. 

Jace shoved his hands through his hair, gave his head a little shake. “Uhh... where were we? Jonathon comes round and makes the offer,” he counted out the points on his fingers, “Jocelyn tells him where to shove it, and then Morgenstern, or that little shit Jonathon, spends the next few months terrorising them both. Clary was worried he’d actually hurt them if he didn’t get his own way, so I told her I’d look into it. Her and I moved back in with her mom about a month ago, just in case.” 

“Have they made a complaint? Filed for a restraining order, anything like that?” 

He pulled a face. “Jocelyn’s had a restraining order since she divorced the freak. Got Clary one too when she turned eighteen. I guess that’s why he sent Jonathon.” 

Alec tugged at his bottom lip with his teeth. What was he missing? Clary, Jocelyn, Jonathon, Morgenstern... 

“Wayland! Get your sorry ass out here!” 

Jace grinned. “That’ll be Frog-Face.” 

Jesus. And he thought Alec was too uptight? “You’ve got some serious issues with authority, Wayland.” 

“Nope.” He pushed back from the desk, traipsing over to the door with less speed than a sloth. “Got issues with too much authority, Lightwood.” 

___ 

Bad idea. This was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea indeed. 

“I’m not sure if you’re aware of my history with Camille, but in the spirit of complete transparency, I feel I should disclose that her and I were once engaged.” Magnus looked up. No going back now. “For a short time only, I might add. But I want to stress that this is not relevant to what I’m about to tell you. I was willing to – albeit reluctantly – quit my job here and move elsewhere.” Magnus paused at her scandalized expression. “I didn’t want to, please understand that it was a great source of pain for me, but I knew I couldn’t work with her again.” 

“Magnus–” 

“All this to say, I was prepared to leave instead of attempting to force Camille out, or derail this merger in any way.” Not strictly true, but what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. “So what I need to tell you now is not in any way my attempt at causing bad blood between yourself and Camille, or yourself and Adam for that matter.” 

She raised an eyebrow. Likely irritated at his earlier interruption. Elizabeth could be petty like that. It was one of the things he liked most about her. 

“I found Camille having an unscheduled meeting with one of Ragnor’s clients yesterday. Abigail Warfield. I believe her plan was to continue in that fashion, until one by one, Ragnor’s clients were hers. Possibly other partners too.” He swallowed. Needed water. “My point is, I don’t believe that Camille’s intentions are good. Adam’s, I couldn’t comment. But hers, certainly not.” 

For a moment, Elizabeth just stared. Eyes narrowed, lips pursed, as though she was waiting for him to come out and say that it had all just been a bad joke. A bad joke that had lasted for three whole years of his life. 

“Magnus, how old do you think I am?” 

Well, that was... strange. Had she taken offence? Decided that Magnus must be lying for his own personal gain? “Elizabeth, I understand that this is quite a sudden–” 

“Magnus.” Elizabeth held out a hand and he shut his mouth. He’d interrupted her enough for one day. “That woman is one of the most underhand, devious, disreputable excuses for a lawyer I’ve ever met. I’ve already told Adam, if he wants a merger, he can have one, but Belcourt’s not getting her grubby mitts on my company. Not in a million years.” 

Oh. Magnus gave a sharp bark of laughter. It was sudden and loud, and once he’d started, he found that he really couldn’t stop. “You...” A huff. “You already knew?” 

Elizabeth just nodded, ever the professional. “If I’d have known your history, or how much you’d been deliberating over coming to me with this, I’d have just come out and told you. But as it was, I didn’t think it was particularly relevant.” A twist of her chair and she was back at her laptop. “Now, I really am sorry for any unnecessary upset that this may have caused you Magnus, but if there’s nothing else...” 

“Yes. No. Of course.” A shaky nod. “I’ll leave you to it.” He pulled in a deep breath, made to stand. Paused. “So she’s really not going to work here?” 

A smile. “She’s really not going to work here.” 

Magnus left the office in a daze. She’s not going to work here. Really not going to work here... 

___ 

Clary, Jocelyn, Jonathon, Morgenstern. 

Clary, Jocelyn, Jonathon, Morgenstern. 

There was something. He knew there was something. It was just too far out– 

Oh. One in half a million. 

He’d been so dense. 

Alec grabbed at his phone and called Jace. Frog-Face be damned. His brother answered on the third ring. “Jace, what’s Jocelyn’s address?” He jabbed at Raj’s computer, tapping his foot impatiently as he watched it come to life. 

“Cromwell. Number 3 Lincoln Green. Why?” 

He groaned. Gave himself a little credit for not screaming. “Why the fuck didn’t you say this earlier?” 

“Say what?” 

Sign in page, loading. Another sign in page, loading. Another sign in page... “That she lives on Lincoln Green. The street where that little boy was killed a few days ago.” 

Now it was Jace’s turn to be dense. “How does a little boy getting killed have anything to do with Jocelyn?” 

“Because they live on the same street!” 

Finally, he was through. Alec pulled up his records for the arson at Lincoln Green and opened the photo folder, named and numbered. Carol Henderson from Number 1, Adelaide Connor from Number 2, Jocelyn Fairchild from Number 3. 

Oh fuck. 

“Jace, Dominic Wilks, the guy I arrested for the arson, he let slip the name Jonathon when I interviewed him this afternoon. Shut up sharpish after that, wouldn’t say another word, but there’s absolutely zero chance that’s a coincidence.” 

Some rustling on the other end, mumbling, likely complaints from Frog-Face about Jace taking personal calls in works time. “ _...is_ work.” 

“I don’t give a shit, it’s not _my_ work, Wayland. You wanna take on an extra-curricular...” More rustling. 

Then he was back. “Go on, what were you saying? You think Jonathon and Morgenstern have something to do with the arson?” 

“You don’t need to go?” 

“No, he’s gone to fill up the tank. That’s the only reason he’s pissed, the bastard normally sends me but I said he should do it himself for once.” 

“Wait, if you and Clary moved back in with her mom, why didn’t I interview you that night? And more importantly, why didn’t you help me?” 

“Must have been asleep. Jocelyn mentioned it the next morning but she didn’t really go into detail.” 

He scoffed. “Must have been asleep. What kind of copper are you?” 

A shit-eating grin. Alec couldn’t see it, but he certainly could hear it. “The kind that works so hard he’s too exhausted to toss and turn all night. I catch too many criminals to be an insomniac, my friend.” Then the smugness evaporated with a groan. “It makes perfect sense now. He was probably planning a new development, sticking one of his shitty apartment buildings where the houses used to be. Cashing in big time, all while torturing his ex-wife.” 

“And his daughter,” Alec muttered. “What kind of a sicko would you have to be?” 

“This type.” 

___ 

Camille slammed her hand on his desk. Spiked nails painted red, giving off the illusion she’d just clawed out somebody’s throat. Probably the desired effect. “You can’t sink this deal, Magnus!” she hissed. “You’re deluded. It’s a done deal, set in stone, cemented in. Exactly what don’t you understand?” 

Magnus smiled. Camille had barged into his office ten minutes ago ranting about accusations and misunderstandings and slander. Something about word getting out that Camille was trying to skew people’s client’s, when he _knew full well_ that she had done nothing of the sort. She’d simply been _managing client relations._ Magnus had barely said a word. 

“You’re spot on, Camille. It is a done deal.” 

“You’re just–” She frowned. “It is? I mean, it is! Of course it is.” A pause. Then she spoke, slowly, as if explaining Pythagoras theorem to a small child. “I’m glad that we’re on the same page with that.” 

A nod. “Yes. We are.” Magnus bubbled with excitement at the thought of breaking the news to Camille himself, but he batted it down with shame over his spite and harboured resentment. It wasn’t his news to break, and he wasn’t going to stoop to her levels. “I’ll see you around, Camille.” And with that, she was dismissed.


	9. “Whit’s fur ye’ll no’ go past ye.”

“A’ve only ‘ad twelve pints!” 

“Bernard...” Alec sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “You can’t say only, and then _twelve.”_

“Ah can!” 

Alec sighed. He himself was completely sober, having only clocked off around twenty minutes ago. Straight down to the Red Lion, scout out the rabble by following the raucous Glaswegian twang, and plop down onto the seat that someone had vacated on their trip to the bar or bathroom. The arson case coming to a close was absolutely a cause for celebration, but Alec had set his sights on a different sort of revelry than ending up with his heid in a cludgie by the end of the night, like Bernard was sure to. 

“A’body listen up! Ah go’ tae say something!” He banged his almost empty tankard on the table, splashing dregs all over the place. “We sent two bad men to jail this affie, and I’m nigh on certain the third’ll be joining ‘em soon enough. So fer now, let’s get blootered!” Another rolly of hits to poor wood beneath him. Raucous hollering followed, with the half-cut coppers surrounding him banging their tables in time with Bernard. 

His pocket began to vibrate. Alec opened it to a text from Magnus, but before he could tap out his response, a drunk Scotsman was shoving at his shoulder. “Cummoan, get tae the bar, laddie. Bevvies are nae gonnae fetch ‘emselves!” He tapped Alec again, stronger this time, urging him from his seat. “Skedaddle.” 

He grumbled a few complaints on his way, but most were half-hearted. The crowd in here weren’t stingy with their rounds. A couple were, of course, but for the most part the coppers were all part of the same team. They shared an understanding of exactly how drunk you sometimes needed to get after a particularly shitty shift. Or a particularly great one. 

Alec dumped the fresh tankard in front of Bernard, shoved a coaster his way and grabbed one for himself. The Scotsman took a huge slug and– 

“Ayabastart!” 

A snort. “That’s what happens when you try to drown yourself in it.” He tossed another coaster Bernard’s way. “That’ll do.” 

To his amusement, Bernard picked up the cardboard square and began to dab dab dab at his chin, shirt, and hands. “Cheers, laddie.” 

Alec chuckled. “Welcome, Bernie.” 

“So, when’s ye boyo getting' ‘ere then?” 

It had been a last minute decision to invite Magnus along for a drink. Apparently, he had some good news to divulge, and it had seemed to make sense at the time to congregate in one place for the shared celebration. Though, admittedly, he hadn’t quite thought ahead as to just how many people would be hitting Lions that night and the fact that he had inadvertently made this an introduction between Magnus and about ninety percent of his colleagues and friends. Alec just wanted to be careful that he didn’t overstep. 

“Should be here any minute. But look, Bernard, no–” 

“Ah ken, no embarrassin’ yer. Gi’us some credit, aye?” 

His phone pinged. Magnus, letting him know he was a minute away, and two friends were joining him. This was turning into a real party. Maybe a little too much so for his liking. The coke in his glass could quite easily be disguised as alcoholic, an intentional decision to remain sober whilst avoiding the inevitable tirade of arguments about his decision. People offering to buy him a drink, asking why he wasn’t drinking, taking it upon themselves to add a shot to his glass while he wasn’t looking. It was easier all around this way, but the imminent arrival of Magnus and Co. was enough to have him considering a second trip to the bar. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get to know Magnus’ friends, it was just awfully soon. Not to mention, if the rest of his friends were anything like Ragnor, even the most patient of saints would be tempted to indulge a little. 

___ 

He needn’t have worried. Magnus had arrived before he’d been able to make his mind up about succumbing to the same levels of intoxication as those around him, and he quickly thanked himself for not choosing the option in which he wouldn’t be able to recall every detail of this night in crystal clear detail. 

“Awa’ an bile yer heid.” 

Magnus quirked an eyebrow. Alec sighed. “He just told Ragnor to go away and boil his head.” He snorted. “Not sure it’s a literal saying. But then again, who knows.” 

It had been around fourty five minutes since his arrival, and Ragnor Fell had already succeeded in royally pissing off the entire police population of the Red Lion. Alec had anticipated feelings of mortification and frustration. The need to apologise profusely on the other man’s behalf. But it turned out that he needn’t have worried. Ragnor’s treatment of some of the most accomplished police officers NYPD had to offer was absolutely hysterical, borderline heroic. He’d spent the last half an hour explaining in small words to a bunch of sloshed coppers exactly why their profession was largely pointless, identifying the many ways in which costs could be cut and resources could be alternatively distributed to achieve the same, if not a better, outcome. 

"I’m merely stating facts, my friend.” 

Bernard rolled his eyes. At least, tried to. Alec was a little surprised he didn’t fall right back with them. “Jus’ blethering oan an oan an oan...” 

Ragnor smiled. “I’d be perfectly happy to pick up this conversation when you’re able to pick out your own reflection from a line up, if you’d find that easier?” 

A hiccup. “Och awa’ an’ dinna talk pish.” 

Alec translated for Magnus, who’d spent the better half of an hour with his shoulders shaking and a hand forced against his lips. “Err, roughly, piss off you’re talking shit.” 

Bernie chucked his soggy, crumbling coaster over the table at Alec. “Eejit.” A burp. “Aren’ ye gonnae introduce me?” 

Beside him, Magnus’s attempt to constrain his amusement was short-lived. Alec just sighed. “I already did. Twice.” 

“Awfy cauld in ‘ere.” Bernard drained his pint, this time managing to get the liquid from A to B without any significant troubles. “Ma heid’s minced.” A belch. “Whose round is it?” 

___ 

“Over here.” Alec waved at Maia from across the bar. She caught his eye and weaved her way towards them. 

“Alright, lads. How we doing?” 

Alec gestured at the fraction of empty space on a corner of their hemmed in table. “Grab a chair, what’re you having?” 

“Pint please, Lightwood.” She nodded at the steadily slumping Scotsman across from him. “Alright, Bernie?” 

Like a drunk contortionist, he maneuvered his head with his hands to locate the source of the noise. “Awrite ya wee bawbag?” 

Alec cringed as stood. “He... that’s... pretty much just means friend.” 

“Yer goin’ furr tha barr?” 

It would be criminal at this point to supply that man with anymore ale. “The only thing I’m bringing back for you Bernard, is a big glass of water.” 

“Haud yer wheesht. Yer cannae–” 

“If I bought you another drink tonight, Bernard, I would quite honestly feel obliged to arrest myself.” And with that, he turned and stalked away. He made it to the bar before he remembered he’d forgotten to ask Magnus if he wanted a refill. There was no chance he was going back there empty handed, unless he wanted to find himself right at the top of Maia Robert’s shit list, so instead he pulled out his phone and shot Magus a quick text. Drink? 

The reply was instantaneous. Anything strong. Sounded about right. He settled on whiskey that Shannon behind the bar had assured him would satisfy someone a lot more in tune with good quality liquor than Alec. Back at the table, Bernard had moved his attention onto Catarina – the much calmer, politer version of Ragnor. In a way, she was actually the more intimidating of the two. 

“Because of a little thing called confidentiality.” 

“Ah wouldnae tell anyone!” He turned to Alec. “Haud oan. Where’s ma drink?” 

“I told you Bernard, water’s all you’re getting.” He plonked down a pint of hangover prevention in front of the man. “Drink up.” 

“Yer can feck righ’ off!” 

Alec turned to Catarina. “He wasn’t badgering you too much was he?” 

“I told him the story of this one time somebody came to the ER with about three different inanimate objects shoved... somewhere they really shouldn't have been shoved.” 

Bernard reached over the table and took hold of Alec’s arm. Leaned forward. Whispered. “Up their arse.” 

Beside him, Magnus devolved into laughter. “She tells this story every time she meets someone new. Almost as soon as she’s told them her name.” 

“It’s a funny story. I like seeing how people react.” She gestured at Bernard, now holding his water at arm's length and peering as if it was about to sprout legs and run to the bar to swap itself out for vodka. “This one was begging me to give up the patient’s name so he could look them up and do god knows what.” 

“Was jus’ gonnae send ‘em summet proper to use, thas all.” 

Alec shook his head. He could only hope that he wasn’t judged too harshly for the company that the chose to keep. 

“It’s nice to meet you anyway, Alec.” Catarina smiled. It made her a little less intimidating. Only a little. 

He tried to return the sentiment, but was cut off mid-sentence by Bernard, who’d now found himself in deep conversation with his previously resented glass of water. “Naw, yer right, yer right laddie. It’s no’ fair, is it?” A nod. “Tight bastart.” Then he leaned in close, like he was about to play telephone. “Whit’s fur ye’ll no’ go past ye.” 

Three sets of eyes swiveled to Alec. “He basically just told his water c’est la vie.” A smirk. “You know, what shall be shall be.” 

Catarina looked somewhat touched, while Magnus embarked on a botched version of the Scotsman’s sentiment. “Wit’s fer yay’ll nay go past yay.” He snorted. “Quite profound, really.” 

Alec hummed. “Quite.” 

___ 

“So, we never actually got round to your news, Magnus?” 

“Oh, right! So– 

“Oan yer bike!” 

Alec sighed. Bernard had gotten himself into a lively debate with Maia, arguing the toss over whether or not, ‘Bastard,’ counted as a swear word. The Scotsman was rightfully upset. If it did, he may as well hand over his next few years of paychecks then and there to cover the costs of his swear jar donations. 

“Anyway.” He leaned in closer to Magnus. “Go on.” 

He grinned. “Camille’s staying in London.” 

“She is?” 

“...skelp ye...” 

Alec tutted. “Wanna go outside for a min? There’s a beer garden.” 

“Och aye! An’ I guess yer wannae tell me ah cannae ‘ave a wee dram of voddie in my Irn Bru while am oan the job as well now, yer wee bastart?” 

“Sure.” Magnus slid out from underneath the table, grabbing his whiskey on the way up. In an endearing display of childishness, he stuck out his tongue at Ragnor’s questioning glare, taking Alec’s arm and pushing him up front to lead the way. 

It was only them and two beer-jacket protected day shifters outside, likely having downed enough booze since clocking off hours ago that they couldn’t have eavesdropped even if they’d wanted to. 

Alec clambered up onto the damp, moss bench and propped his feet where his backside should have gone. “So you were saying?” 

“She’s staying in London.” Magnus peered at the state of the creaking, crumbling frame Alec was trusting with his body weight and wrinkled his nose. Leaned instead against the brick wall of the Lions. “I spoke to Elizabeth, my boss, and apparently she’d had no intention of letting Camille anywhere near her business in the first place.” He shrugged. “Mud sticks, and in Camille’s instance, it’s entirely well deserved. You can’t spend your entire career screwing people over the first chance you get and then expect to be welcomed with open arms into somebody’s livelihood. Elizabeth’s a very intelligent woman, and Camille has a reputation almost as big as her ego.” He shook his head. Sighed. “I should have realised it, really.” 

“You couldn’t have known.” 

Magnus hummed. “Maybe not. I wish I had, though.” Then a smile, brighter than daylight was going to appear to Bernard tomorrow morning. “Oh well. All’s well that ends well. I get to keep my job, and she gets to piss off back to London.” He clapped his hands together, then held them that way as he seemed to realise the warmth it generated. “What about you? You must be relieved.” 

He nodded slowly. “Yeah.” One foot off the bench, swinging back and forth. “There’ll always be another, but I guess you just have to take it one at a time. Do what you can.” Opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “You wanna go home? I mean, back to yours? Or mine?” 

“Ditch Ragnor with a drunk Scotsman to spend time with you?” A grin. “Absolutely.” 

___ 

“Noo jist haud oan!” Bernard grabbed at the air, possibly aiming for Alec, but who could really tell? “Yer cannae leave! It’s a party!” 

“It’s still a party without us, Bernie.” A pat on the head, like he was consoling a sad puppy. “Don’t worry, I’m relatively certain you won’t remember that we left early by tomorrow, so just pretend that we’re still here.” 

“Yer cannae...” Some mumbling, “...bastart...” A hiccup. 

Alec hid a grin. “Night Bernard. See you later everyone.” He waved, nodded at Maia, smiled at Ragor. The man was a nightmare, but Alec was oddly beginning to enjoy his company. 

He didn’t bother to hide his smile as the crowd muttered their goodbyes to him _and_ Magnus. They weren’t a bad lot, when all was said and done. 

Alec steered them outside, away from prying eyes and blithering Scots. 

“Jesus. You sure you want to leave your friends in there?” 

“They can handle themselves.” 

“I know, I was thinking more that they’d ban you from seeing me after a night in there with that lot.” 

“Nobody bans me from doing anything, Alec.” 

He hummed. “No, I’m sure they don’t Magnus. I’m sure they don’t.”


	10. The Night Before and The Morning After

Fractured into rings of warmth. The colour of fresh coffee, with the same powerful energy within. Magnus’ eyes latched onto Alec’s, and he found it was impossible to look away. Probably a good thing that he didn’t want to. 

It was the same euphoria as discovering your new favourite song. Stumbling across an author who’s writing feeds your soul. Hearing the band that raised you perform live for the first time. Explaining to somebody exactly why this album was the soundtrack to your life, and having them listen, and _agree._ It was finally pressing submit on the essay that ruined your life for far longer than you should have let it. Winning a case that you’d worked so damn hard on for so damn long. It was every success moulded into one, and it was beautiful. 

“Like what?” 

“Err, in what way?” 

“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” 

“No.” 

“You said I wouldn’t believe the shit that your siblings used to pull.” 

“Oh! Yeah, course.” He cleared his throat. Embarrassing. “Well. There’s more recent things, like Jace hacking my emails at work to unofficially investigate his girlfriend's dad. Although, I couldn’t really be too irritated at him for that, because I’m not sure how long it would’ve taken to make the connection between Morgenstern and the arson without that.” He looked up to see Magnus’ eyes on his. Again. Not distracted, roaming around the walls for something better to look at. Staring out of the window, into space. Just him. He took a few breaths and willed his face to return to its normal shade of pale. “Then there’s more stupid things, like the time Izzy snuck out of the house for fourty-eight hours. Not just overnight, like a normal teenager. Fourty-eight hours, Magnus. And I’m not a very good liar.” 

Magnus’ eyes were wide as he laughed. “You covered for her all that time?” 

“I tried! I don’t really know. They must have suspected something? I mean, they asked where she was and I said she was in her room working on a project, so they said to bring her down for dinner and I panicked and said that she wasn’t allowed.” A laugh forced its way up Alec’s throat, no amount of will could stifle it down. “I said that she was working on a group project with a really bossy classmate who’d kick off if she wasn’t pulling her weight.” His gut ached with the ripples of hysteria, voice getting higher and higher. “I said I’d take it up to her so she could eat while she worked, then I was sat there in Izzy’s room trying to eat as much as I could of hers...” And they descended into unintelligible mirth. Clinging onto themselves and one another, trying to grasp any ounce of composure and failing quite spectacularly. But Alec couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

They calmed down, took a breath, then erupted into a second fit of giggles. It was the perfect mixture of sprightly and spent, where every nerve was abuzz with endless potential, but his eyes were drooping and his limbs were lax. All he wanted was to talk, listen, hear that laugh that seeped into his brain and pumped out more serotonin than he ever remembered having in one hit. 

He was sober this time, and any reservations he’d had didn’t exist in a sober Alec’s mind. He was always mindful not to make decisions that weren’t fully his own, but in that moment, his mind and body were aligned with one clear desire. To feel Magnus’ skin against his own. 

“I can add caring brother to the list of traits I like about you.” 

He looked up. “What about you? Siblings... or?” 

Magnus shook his head. “Not biologically, no. Lots of strays I’ve picked up along the way though.” 

“Like Ragnor?” 

“And Cat. And Raphael. You haven’t met him yet, but I’m sure you’ll get along great. He’s like you, but grumpier.” 

“Really?” Alec narrowed his eyes. “In all fairness, you haven’t seen me at my grumpiest yet, so you don’t know. I might still win.” 

“You are not seriously making this a competition?” 

“Course I am.” He laughed. “I work hard at being this grumpy.” 

Magnus shook his head with a fond smile. “Ridiculous.” 

___ 

“Fourteen times in a day!” 

“Twenty-nine was our record. I’d say it averages around four or five though.” 

“Where on earth do you get the energy?” 

Alec shrugged. “Well, they’re not always long conversations. Sometimes she just calls to say hello.” 

“What on earth happened on the twenty-nine day?” 

“Izzy had a date.” 

“Ah.” Magnus nodded. “Makes sense.” 

“To be fair, it wasn’t just me calling to check on her, she called loads in the morning to witter on about what to wear, was her makeup too heavy–” 

“Witter on?” His expression was scandalised, he scooched closer on the couch to nudge Alec’s arm. “Those are very important things, Alexander!” 

“I’m sure they are, Magnus, but do they require thirteen phone calls to your older brother who knows nothing about either of them?” 

“She just wanted some moral support!” 

“She wanted me to tell her which shade of eyeshadow would best match her underwear.” 

Magnus blurted out an undignified laugh. “Well, okay I’ll give you that one then.” He stood from the couch. “Are you sure you don’t want a drink? Even water?” 

Alec shook his head. “Thanks though.” 

“You weren’t drinking at the pub either, were you?” 

“I’ve figured out coke is the best way to make sure you don’t get spiked. They assume you’re already drinking the heavy stuff, their brains can’t compute that it might not actually be alcoholic.” 

Magnus called over his shoulder as we went for the kitchen, “Bernard’s a character, isn’t he?” 

“He’s like a stray cat. Probably shouldn’t find him cute, but you definitely do.” 

Cupboard closing. Glass clinking. Tap running. “Are you working tomorrow?” 

“Technically I’m not on shift again until Monday.” 

He reemerged, glass of water in hand. “Will you go in before then, though?” 

“Nope.” 

“Not at all?” 

“Unless someone dies, I’m not going in.” In most professions, it would have been metaphorical, but in Alec’s, he meant that in the most literal of senses. “You?” 

A pause. A hum. “Well, I usually go in over the weekend... but I guess there’s no real need to. Like you say, no fires to put out.” A sigh. “And it has been rather a busy week. Maybe I won’t go in. Maybe I’ll just enjoy the celebration while it lasts.” 

“Got anything in mind?” 

Magnus smiled. “Well, it seems like you do.” He took a sip from his water and waited. 

Fine. If that’s how he wanted to play it. Alec rose from the couch and took three large steps forward, bringing him level with Magnus. Gently prised the glass from his hands and placed it on the window ledge beside them. 

He nodded slowly. “Okay.” A gentle squeeze of Magnus’ shoulder, then he leaned forward until his lips were almost brushing his ear. “But just so you know... I’m not gonna let you win at this either.” 

___ 

Curtains too thin. Light too bright. 

A murmured voice. “Go back to sleep.” 

“Hmmphh... don’t... is not night time...” The mumbling didn’t make much sense to his own ears. Coffee. He needed coffee. “Time is it?” 

“Only about seven. There’s no need to get up.” 

He prised his eyes open. Magnus had propped himself up on his pillows. Shirtless against the golden silk. Scrolling through his phone. 

“You’re checking your emails aren’t you?” Slightly slurred, but it got the point across. 

The other man was wide awake. His hair was soft and bouncy, face clean of any glitter, goop or shine. He’d taken it off before falling asleep last night. Alec found that he liked both version of Magnus just the same. 

“I might be,” he chirped. Not a croak in sight. 

Alec shifted himself up the bed, propping the stack of pillows behind him. “So, you’re a morning person?” 

“Nope. Just very practiced at it.” 

“Same,” Alec grumbled. “Doesn’t help.” 

Magnus finished his tapping and locked the phone, sliding it over onto the bedside cabinet. “Breakfast.” 

“Coffee.” 

He huffed, amused. “Sure you don’t just want to go back to sleep?” 

Alec shook his head, thoughts a little more coherent now. Words a little more rounded. “I never can.” 

“Sorry if I woke you.” 

“You didn’t. Always up this early. Just happened.” 

Magnus smiled, a twist of mischief to it. “I like you this way. Very unfiltered. I feel like I could ask you anything and you’d spill.” 

He groaned. Rubbed at his eyes. “No. Need coffee before you make me say anything stupid.” 

“Sorry, did I not tell you? I don’t drink coffee.” A poorly contained grin. “There’s none in.” 

“Oh shut up you. Who doesn’t drink coffee?” 

Still laughing, Magus swept out of bed like a man who’d just finished his morning yoga session. “I’ll get you one.” 

Alec made to follow, though far less gracefully. “I’ll help.” 

“No.” He winked. “Stay where you are.” 

Oh. That’s how he wanted to play it. “Still upset you lost?” 

“That’s fighting talk, Lightwood. You can’t lose at sex, remember?” 

“That’s losing talk, Bane. You definitely can.” 

Magnus slid forward, placing his knee on the edge of the bed, hovering above Alec. “Best of three?” 

“Suits me.” He pulled Magnus into a kiss, shifting the other man further onto the bed. Magnus slid a hand around Alec’s neck. Coffee long forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Lots of love. Stay safe <3


End file.
